


The Times They are Pining

by toggledog



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angels, Awkward Crush, Awkward Sexual Situations, Aziraphale & Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Demons Are Assholes, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Sex, Eventual Smut, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Apocalypse, Romantic Fluff, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-06-02 15:07:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19443946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toggledog/pseuds/toggledog
Summary: The angel is cute. Too cute for Crowley. It's disgusting and wrong... by all that is unholy, Crowley wants him. As  for Aziraphale, there is definite tension on his side, only he refuses to believe an angel and demon should be together.Basically, throughout the ages, and then through the apocalypse, the two ineffable husbands pine for each other until finally accepting they really are a match made in heaven (and hell).Crowley's pov.





	1. Chapter 1

In the billions of millennia since Crowley’s creation and the countless angels he had come across since, he had never considered any of them to be cute. Salaciously ravishable? At times. Good looking in an overly preppy and irksome wholesome way? He supposed. But cute? As in fluffy creatures with big eyes, combined with the usual vomitus squelching in the pit of his stomach?

Never.

Never that was, until he escaped out of the Garden of Eden on the newly created earth, to stand beside the admitted wholesome, preppy, salaciously ravishable angel. Why the angel chose to stand here, just outside of the garden of God’s latest created planet, over anywhere on the millions of habitable planets teaming with new life, Crowley had no idea. But then, he wasn’t even sure why he was there, himself. The planet in Alpha Centauri Five with the intelligent life forms consisting of different colours tended to be a favourite of demons, mainly because the inhabitants were so corruptible. Either that or the planet closest to the edge of the universe with the easily suggestible canine population. However, he suspected this new earth would swiftly become a favourite for the fine and bastardly folks of both heaven and hell.

Providing the first man and woman popped out progeny… who, in turn created more progeny… There was only one way in which this could be achieved and, with only one man and woman on earth thus far… Crowley’s demonic brain wasn’t going to go there.

Crowley assured himself his superiors should be impressed by his serpent-bodied temptation. Eve and Adam had eaten of God’s precious apple and, as a result, had been kicked out of the garden. The angel, Aziraphale, in turn, had given Adam his flaming sword to protect himself. Watching the human now attempting to ward off a stalking lion, Crowley brought up the amusing notion that perhaps he had performed an ultimate good deed by leading the humans to be forced out of the garden and Aziraphale had performed an ultimate bad deed by handing Adam the flaming sword.

At this point, as a shocked and concerned expression slid over Aziraphale’s face, widening the typical attractive features that all the angels bore, Crowley came to the conclusion that he was cute.

_Yes, such a cute creature, oh no…_

Crowley threw up in his mouth, savoured the acidic taste of his own vomit, and swallowed. The first pelts of rain splashed down onto Crowley’s shoulder, so Aziraphale lifted his wing to cover his head. Now protected against the first deluge of water on the new planet, Crowley again considered the one beside him. Yes, definitely cute, with the wide-eyed ostensible naivety common to the angels but… what quirk differentiated this particular angel from the others Crowley had met? Perhaps the answer was simple. From the moment of their introduction to each other, Aziraphale had neither mocked, nor attacked him.

Still, the disturbing question persisted, why hadn’t he attempted to mock or attack Aziraphale?

Crowley wasn’t sure why he was favouring the angel with so much attention. He should leave. The rain forests further south appeared a gratifying venture to explore.

Aziraphale turned to face him again, questioning Crowley’s stare with the subtle tilt of his head, raise of his brow.

“Are you warm enough?” Aziraphale asked. “I understand you’re a demon, but still…”

Continuing to gaze at the appealing visage, Crowley sensed an electricity crackle between them, one that jolted his innards, in a pleasant, and therefore slightly painful (and conversely thrilling) fashion.

_Ok, what is this?_

There was one way they could assuage the odd tension between them. The angel was physically appealing enough for Crowley to be convinced he would enjoy the follow through of his temptation. Furthermore, seducing one from the other side was certain to give him props from his big boss.

“Have you ever been ravished before, pretty angel? If you’re up for some ravishing we could…” Crowley trailed off, as Aziraphale’s blue eyes grew wider, his mouth open in a perfect o shape. Even his facial expressions could only be termed as adorable.

“Get thee behind me, foul fiend!” Aziraphale’s wing came down, as he backed away.

“So, that’s a no then,” Crowley sighed.

The angel scowled and then vanished from Crowley’s sight.

_Yes, a definite no._

“Well, that was a damned stuff up, right there,” Crowley sighed. He was out of practice. Outright asking the angel if he wanted intimacy with him, a demon…

_Surprising, really, that he didn’t attempt to smite you on the spot._

Acknowledging the humour of the situation, Crowley sniggered.

*

After waiting out two weeks and exploring the other uninhabited areas of earth (the arctic tundra was a welcome revelation to his fiery soul), Crowley returned to Eden, to find Aziraphale placing the last rocks into what was obviously a wall, presumably to keep Adam and Eve out of the garden.

“So…” Crowley swallowed, flicking his fingers against his thighs, in an uncharacteristic nervous manner.

Aziraphale shot him a disgruntled glance and continued fitting the rock into the wall.

“Did you get the flaming sword off the first man, yet?”

Silence.

“Listen, with our last… it was a joke!”

Sighing, Aziraphale wiped his hands on his white tunic, facing Crowley. “I am aware of demons’ obsession with carnality-“

“I’d hardly call it an obsess-“

“I am an _angel_!” Aziraphale’s irises glittered with convoluted emotion. “We only believe in intimacy as the height of respect for the creator. Being intimate with a demon would be the grossest violation of the sacred-“

“I was joking! As I’m a demon, as you keep reminding me, you don’t need to take me so seriously.”

“You were?” Aziraphale prodded.

Crowley was not joking. Even at that point, he would gladly pound the angel into the very heaven from which he came. However, as a demon, Crowley was not only given to the occasional insatiable lust but was also a fantastic liar.

“Of course, my sense of humour, angel.”

“Oh…good…” Aziraphale broke out into a sunny smile that both regurgitated acid contents back up Crowley’s oesophagus and sent a gratifying chill down his spine.

_Oh no. No not again._

“Ok well I’d better… I’ll be off then,” Crowley said, walking away from the wall and into the desert.

“But… you’ve only just arrived here!” Aziraphale hurried to walk alongside him.

“Yes, well I… I came to see how you are. And you’re fine so… good luck with the wall and the flaming sword and all of that,” Crowley favoured him with his best toothy grin before disappearing himself, relocating to the jungles of the quaint island further north. Humungous spiders there. Not the least cute. They were more to his liking and furthermore, he did not have the urge to be intimate with them.

*

Crowley had to admit, he understood Aziraphale’s big boss less than his own. At least Satan’s mode of leader was very basic. Evil, temptation. All round bad. Despite Aziraphale suggesting otherwise, sending a flood to wipe out most of humanity did seem rather… mean spirited. More along the lines of something his boss would do. Did Satan and God have a bet?

Aziraphale, however, smiled and chattered in his usual chirpy fashion, even when the first droplets of water hit them, signalling the beginning of the rain that would last for forty days, and drown everyone. Men, women and children alike.

Children.

No, it wasn’t fair.

Sensing calamity, the humans screamed, scattering in all directions. A few attempted to board the boat, to then fall down to the muddy earth.

“I’m not going to watch this,” Crowley said. “Want to come with me to Australia?”

“Oh no I am honoured to observe God’s plan at work,” Aziraphale said, as before them, one woman bearing a baby fell down into the mud and was trampled on by another who, in their haste, didn’t stop to help her and the screaming child back up.

Crowley frowned, shaking his head. Underneath the sweet, cute exterior, Aziraphale could be viewed as even more bloodthirsty than he was. Watching children drown, being ripped from their mother’s arms? Not his style.

*

Watching the son of God being nailed to a cross was even less Crowley’s style. From the crinkle of his delicate features, Aziraphale at least appeared disturbed by the grotesque spectacle before him. Five years before, Crowley had met this Jesus fellow, had shown him the kingdoms of the world. The poor guy had been smart, kind, bore a wry sense of humour. Of all the humans Crowley would have gladly have seen nailed to the cross, this one would be among the last. In fact, to take Jesus’s place, he would pick any of those in the crowd, barring Aziraphale.

“What did he say, to deserve all this?” Crowley asked, as once more, the hammer swung towards the nail, driving it further into the man’s flesh, causing him to cry out in agony.

“Be kind to each other,” Aziraphale winced.

_And to think, these humans did this to one of their own, with no help from any of us demons here on earth._

“Well, that’s enough for me,” Crowley said.

“I thought you were meant to enjoy this,” Aziraphale said. “Shouldn’t _you_ be the one gloating?”

“Not really my thing,” Crowley said and wandered away, expecting Aziraphale to join him. When the angel continued to watch, wincing with every groan from his master’s son, Crowley waved him off, deciding to let him be.

*

The next time they met, eight years later, Aziraphale came up to him.

“Still a demon then?” Aziraphale asked, sunny and lovely as ever.

“Of course I’m still a demon. What else am I meant to be, an aardvark?” Crowley asked.

_Go away, Aziraphale. I’m not in the mood._

The particular earth era, with its raunchy debauchery, was beneficial for tempting humans. The problem was, it was too easy. Crowley was now competing against other demons, who had come up to join in the fun.

_It’s just no fun if it’s too easy._

Ignoring Crowley’s clear ‘leave me alone’ vibes, Aziraphale prattled on. The creature exuded such light, not even Crowley’s sunglasses deflected his immense glow.

_What’s he going on about now? Bloody oysters?_

“I’ve never eaten an oyster,” Crowley admitted.

“Well. Allow me to tempt you to…”

Now, this caught Crowley’s attention. An angel talking about temptation? Aziraphale continued to intrigue.

“No, that’s your job, isn’t it?” Aziraphale said.

“Alright… I’ll try an oyster.”

Oysters were associated with…Yes, Crowley was aware of the sexual implications.

_Is this Aziraphale’s attempt at seducing me?_

“Oh, you will not regret this!” Aziraphale beamed.

As they made their way out of the dwelling and across the street into a different building, Crowley trailed Aziraphale, who tattled on about architecture and the clothing of the inhabitants, followed by the scent of the different spices of the outdoor market.

Once inside the second, more cramped dwelling, Crowley nodded at the woman by the door to their direct right, who lead them into a room which bore circular wooden tables topped with candles and food, and surrounded by eating, chatting and laughing patrons. All three skirted around the full tables, to the only empty one in the room, which sat by the window facing the street outside. Wiping down his toga, Aziraphale sat. Crowley slunk down into the opposite chair.

“Four oysters, thank you,” Aziraphale said. “Oh, you will enjoy this!”

“I’m sure I will,” Crowley said. “I take it you know they’re an aphrodisiac.”

Crowley’s cheeks flushed bright pink. Crowley didn’t consider it possible, for an angel to blush. Aziraphale’s tendency to surprise appeared his most constant trait.

“No, I didn’t know that. I can assure it’s not true.”

“So, you didn’t want to tempt me with oysters because of those properties?”

Aziraphale’s cheeks now deepened, to scarlet. “I assure you, I had no idea! I simply consider them to be a fine delicacy.”

Dear Satan, this angel was irritatingly adorable. It too all of Crowley’s strength not to slide out of his chair, slam the angel onto the table and ravish his floundering mouth with his tongue.

The oysters arrived as two plates were set in front of them.

“Alright… let’s go…” Crowley slipped the oyster into his mouth and swallowed, grimacing at the taste, before scowling. “Well it had better be an aphrodisiac because I can’t conceive of any other reason why anyone would eat them!”

Aziraphale’s forehead now matched the scarlet of his cheeks, as he slid the oyster into his own mouth. Watching the flesh of his throat jolt as he swallowed, Crowley ascertained that he had been correct all along. Oysters were aphrodisiacs.

Damn, he wanted the angel.

In his mind, Aziraphale lay wanton and naked on his satin sheets, come-hither bright eyes staring back at him, fingers beckoning him forward. What would Aziraphale’s lips taste of? Would his interior be scorching or freezing around his member?

_Any other demon who wanted him this much would find a way to just take him. Willing or no. And you know it._

Crowley pushed himself back from the table, his abdominal muscles clenching painfully.

No, he refused to indulge in such spoils. If other demons wanted to indulge, he wouldn’t stop them but as for himself … even overt murder tended to cramp his abdomen. Some pillaging? Stealing? Light tempting? More his scene.

“You okay, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, forehead furrowing.

“I’m not a very good demon. I can’t even remember the last time I tempted a human,” Crowley whispered.

“Well, it turns out I’m not the best angel either, seeing as I’ve just tempted you,” Aziraphale said.

Angel and demon, getting along. Neither of their superiors would be particularly fond of this outcome.

Crowley grimaced and shotgunned another oyster.

“I’d better go try and tempt a few humans to do evil or my lot will start asking questions.”

“Oh…” Aziraphale’s refined features fell, in a crestfallen expression. “Yes, I guess I’d better be good.” The uplift of his lips and show of his white teeth were at odds with the disappointment in his blue irises. “Maybe I’m too used to the finer spoils of this earth. I should be doing my job.”

“Hm…” Crowley stood. “See you again… soon.”

*

Crowley did believe his idea to be an honest good one; simply tell their superiors they were conspiring humans to commit good or evil deeds without wasting the energy on actually tempting them. After all, the black knight outfit was heavy, and stunk of the putrid body odor of the knight Crowley’s follower had bested for it. Crowley would more than glad to be out of it.

Aziraphale shouted each possible combination of negative statement in response.

Of course, the angel was never going to agree. Mr. Goody. Mr. I’m Trying Desperately to Suck Up to My Snooty Superiors. Crowley was offering an easy way out. But no, Aziraphale had to make eternity difficult for himself.

The ill-fitting armor did not suit Aziraphale. Too cumbersome for his cute features. At odds with his refined movements.

_Let’s face it, angel. You’re as not up to this do-gooding as I am up to this do-bading._

Aziraphale left back through the fog and Crowley let him.

_Till the next time, angel._

*

Crowley groaned, as he tore off the last of the leg armor and flung it in the corner. Next, dip into a soothing cool bath-

“Now don’t be alarmed-“ the cultured voice spoke.

Crowley spun around, to Aziraphale standing behind him. He’d taken off his own armor and was dressed in simple tunic and white slacks, as Crowley was.

“I’ve… considered your suggestion…”

For a moment, Crowley’s mind went to the oyster conversation of centuries past. His demonic heart pounded against his chest wall.

“Maybe if we…They don’t pay attention… as long as the jobs are done…”

Crowley grimaced.

If this was a seduction attempt, Aziraphale had a long way to go, in being sensual.

“We can both tempt and… deceive…” Aziraphale swallowed. “I’m just saying we could… combine forces, at times.”

“You’re talking about our superiors?” _And not intimacy._

Aziraphale nodded, lips upturned. “Of course, there are some temptations I couldn’t…But light bribery…”

“I don’t go for the big stuff, angel. I figure you would have noticed that by now,” Crowley said. “No murder, no raping and pillaging. No coveting of anyone’s wife or husband.”

“Well, no I… I wouldn’t think so.”

Crowley wasn’t going to confide that he hadn’t coveted a damn thing since meeting Aziraphale over four thousand years before. This he hadn’t been able to tell his superiors. As far as they were concerned, he was coveting at least three times a day.

“But do you think…?”

Crowley shrugged. “Sure… why not?”

_Damn him! Literally!_

Crowley was convinced they should have switched. Aziraphale should have fallen. After all, in the warm glow of his smile. Crowley was compelled to perform any task he asked of him.

_I’m not the great tempter. He is. What a pathetic demon I turned out to be._

*

“That was fun, wasn’t it?” Aziraphale dropped his ill-gotten gains onto the table before Crowley, who lounged in the chair opposite, attempting to clear his throat of the acrid taste it always received when he tempted an alcoholic wife beater into kicking the habit. “Now I can use the money to tempt someone towards good. Hm… what can I do?”

How many times had they combined forces by now? Switched roles? A dozen? Two?  
Aziraphale always returned with his typical bright-eyed cheer and Crowley with his languid sourness.

“So much good to be done…” Aziraphale rubbed his hands together and smiling.

Cute as a puppy. In gesture, in physical appearance, in voice.

No, adorable as a hell hound. More to Crowley’s taste.

Damn if the angel wasn’t literally going to be the death of him.

*

Aziraphale was in trouble. Crowley wasn’t sure how he’d managed to get himself imprisoned in the Bastille Prison during the French revolution but it would be most unfortunate if his angel became discorporated from his corporeal being. Not that Crowley was considering what use he could make of Aziraphale’s earth bound body… no, no Crowley’s demonic musings never went in that direction…No more than two or three times a day…

His mind ventured back to the century before. Aziraphale walking through the crowd of the Globe Theatre, as the crowd, including Queen Elizabeth, broke into rapturous applause, thanks to Crowley’s smooth work. The proud grin that crossed the delicate features clenched Crowley’s fists. Damn Aziraphale, damn him, damn him. He was torn whether to strike him or kiss him.

Did Aziraphale ever consider Crowley in such a way? Crowley couldn’t be sure. He had sensed, at times, the crawl of Aziraphale’s eyes up and down his torso, the lingering glances, the occasional touch. Perhaps there was… something… an ephemeral longing… from the angel’s side… but, in all of his ironic constant enthusiasm for the earth and its inhabitants, Aziraphale was too closed off for Crowley to be sure.

Regardless, he refused to allow the humans to chop the angel’s head off.

As always, Aziraphale appeared overjoyed to see him. Due to the idiocy of his jailer, Crowley only needed to use a smidge of his powers to overcome him and save his angel.

“Lunch?” Aziraphale asked.

Lunch it was.

*

Lunch had started well. He’d kept to the red wine, while Aziraphale dined on his haute cuisine. Aziraphale managed to also indulge in the majority of the chatter, between forkfuls of food.

“Do you ever get tired of this?” Crowley asked, as Aziraphale reached for his wine glass.

“Whatever you mean?”

“I mean _this_. Working for that lot up there. Don’t you ever want to just leave?”

“I can’t just leave…” Aziraphale’s expression was concurrently incredulous and innocent.

“Why not?”

“Well… because it’s my job! And even if I wanted to it’s an eternity long servitude.”

“If we went far enough. God isn’t going to care about a rogue angel and demon! They will never find us.”

“I’m _astonished_ you would even come up with such a suggestion,” Aziraphale placed the wine glass down again and pouted.

“It’s okay, angel. There’s no need to be scared.”

Crowley wasn’t even sure why he attempted his next move.

He congratulated himself that after four thousand years, he at least made a move. Of course, it turned out to be the worst possible, but at least there was an attempt.

With his innards coiling around each other, Crowley leaned across the table, cupped his palms under Aziraphale’s chin and leaned forward, in an attempt to kiss his lips. Aziraphale scuttled back in his chair, breaking contact, his eyes bulging, flesh white.

_Well, there’s your answer._

“Crowley no… we can’t…I’m sorry, we can’t…”

“Why not?”

“You know why not! You’re a _demon_! I’m an _angel_! I’m sorry I should… I need to go. I should leave.”

Crowley allowed him to depart the room.

_Why is it that Aziraphale is always the one walking away from me?_

*

It was after two bottles of wine, later that night, that Crowley grasped the notion that Aziraphale hadn’t rejected the idea of intimacy with him but moreover the moral quandary associated with them being together. The revelation didn’t do much to quell Crowley’s angst.

*

So, there it was. The official ‘break up’ or so the humans called such a series of catastrophic events. Aziraphale had refused to give him the holy water he needed. Crowley knew not to argue with him. He could be so damned stubborn, when he wanted to be. Not that it mattered. Aziraphale wasn’t anything to him. A pretty bauble, that was all. A shiny trinket that just managed to cross paths with him at times.

Crowley didn’t need him. No, not at all.

He took another deep gulp of the whiskey bottle, burped and took yet another. The bedroom span around and around…

Aziraphale enjoyed dancing. Around and around. Didn’t he at one point ask Crowley to join him?

“Come on, Crowley! Just one dance!” Aziraphale’s white toothed, wide smile, which always managed to produce odd and satiating sensations through Crowley’s slender demonic being.

Crowley had denied him.

“No, I don’t need him. I don’t even like him… Annoying angel. So irritating and sweet. His stupid bow tie. Fraternising? _Fraternising_?!” Crowley threw his whiskey glass against the wall, where it burst in a shower of crystal and amber.

If they were _fraternising_ , they’d be doing more than meeting up and talking over Aziraphale’s dinner. He’d start by ripping the ridiculous bow tie from Aziraphale’s neck, followed by the rest of his clothing.

No, forget the angel. Crowley worked better without him.

“Yep, forget you…damned… angel…”

*

“Damn you Aziraphale!” Crowley was parked in front of the church in his Bentley. “Damn you! I mean literally!”

Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself and opened the car door.

“Here we go.”

He then slammed the car door shut, sauntered up the path and pushed open the church door, flinching as the wood burned his hand.

_Here we go here we go here we go._

_Oooh ouch ok ok…_

Damn… ok. Hot. Not just hot; burning, scorching, shooting agony from the souls of his feet up his calves and thighs, as he crossed over the threshold of the church and continued down the aisle, as though he was back in hell stepping over the burning coals at the entrance.

Aziraphale was in trouble, surrounded by three humans bearing guns. And Crowley was rushing to save him… which was completely against hell’s regulations. If his superiors discovered this rescue, he could get in trouble. They both could.

But here he was anyway. Aziraphale was clearly pleased to see him, bearing the grin that literally had made Crowley walk across sacred ground for him.

_By Beelzebub’s toes this is hot hot!_

Still, not much longer. The bomb would be dropped soon. Three more souls for hell, so that would be one up for him. As long as Aziraphale kept up his end and made certain they survived.

As soon as the bomb dropped and the dust scattered, Aziraphale instantly started complaining.

Oh yes, Aziraphale’s books. Crowley had an instinct that Aziraphale would, in the chaos, forget also to save the tomes of predictions. Of course, the fact Crowley was the one who saved the books from destruction didn’t mean anything. He simply couldn’t bear to hear the angel go on about his loss, for who knows how many millennia.

“Wait, Crowley. Thank you,” Aziraphale rushed up to catch up with him.

“Yes, you’ve already said that,” Crowley said, continuing to walk to his Bentley. “Want a lift back to the bookstore?”

“Oh, that would be… if it isn’t too much bother…”

Crowley shrugged. Too much bother. Aziraphale was always too much bother.

“Go on, get in,” Crowley said, reaching the car and opening the passenger door.

Both entered the vehicle and slammed the doors closed.

“Crowley…I’m glad we’re talking again.”

“Yeah yeah.” Crowley made clear his sarcasm in the two words and turned the ignition.

“As I explained about the holy water, I could not bear to see you be harmed. And they would more than harm you. They would _kill_ you.”

Light, trembling hand on his chin.

“Crowley?”

Crowley turned his head, to Aziraphale’s face too close to his own, his own sunglasses reflected in the blue eyes. Aziraphale’s breath came in and out too fast from his lungs. An angel shouldn’t even be breathing. Why in Beelzebub’s foul breath should he be panting?

Forgoing all care, Crowley leaned forward and planted his lips on Aziraphale’s, which were soft… too soft, as though Crowley could fall into them. Gripping the back of Aziraphale’s neck, caressing the supple springy hair, he gently opened his mouth, to move his tongue inside Aziraphale’s own mouth. The angel tasted of bitter snails and the sweet sugar of his earlier dessert. Aziraphale’s own tongue froze, before gently entangling with his. The angel’s mouth interior was both hot and cold, sweet and bitter, soft and hard, as wondrously convoluted as the rest him. Moaning, he reached down and squeezed Aziraphale’s thigh.

Aziraphale pulled back, breaking contact.

“Crowley, I’m so sorry.”

“Why? I’m not,” Crowley grinned.

“We shouldn’t… I’ve already told you! We can’t do this!”

“Oh, here we go!” Crowley rested his head back against the headboard of the car seat and stared up at the ceiling.

“It’s wrong. You’re a _demon_ -“

“Fallen angel.”

“We’re too different you and I.”

Crowley sighed. “Let me just drive you to the bookstore, okay?”

As the car thundered through the streets, for the first time, Aziraphale didn’t complain. He waited until the Bentley pulled in front of his bookshop before speaking.

“It’s too much for me, Crowley. I’m sorry. It’s too fast.”

A kiss was too fast? What did he want? Flowers and a date? Of course, that was what he wanted. He was an angel. All love and sweetness. What else did Crowley expect?

“Alright, alright. I’ll back off.”

“I’m sorry…” Aziraphale’s eyelashes flickered down.

“It’s fine.”

“Thank you for tonight. I’m truly grateful.”

Crowley shrugged.

*

Seated in Crowley’s Bentley, Aziraphale handed him a flask of holy water. So, the angel was concerned for him. That was nice. Typical of angelic behaviour but still, Crowley wasn’t going to complain.

Not when he had his holy water for protection.

“I’ll drive you back to the bookstore,” he offered, carefully placing the flask between the passenger and driver’s seats.

“You go too fast, Crowley,” Aziraphale said.

From the angel’s tone, Crowley understood he was not referencing the car.

_For all that is unholy, I wasn’t even thinking of…_

Crowley wondered if they would ever resolve whatever this… tension was between them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all who gave kudos and commented! I'm enjoying immensely immersing myself in this wonderful fandom.  
> Enjoy!

Every factor was in place, every chess piece aligned to strike and take the queen, or, in this case, take every queen, every king, every king and queen’s child, every royal family’s servants, their families, their family’s dogs and cats, the offspring of said dogs and cats.

As well as very other human, fauna and flora along with it.

Crowley now sorely missed the other habitable planets of the solar system, and considered that perhaps he’d settled down in the wrong one; particularly as it was about to be destroyed, ironically thanks to his own brilliant dealings (lies… no, not lies, he modified to himself, _exaggerations_ ) over the years.

“Call Aziraphale!” He ordered his Bentley’s bluetooth, as the vehicle thundered at potential ironic-to-any-human-who-wasn’t-paying-attention death speed on the gravel highway.

After Aziraphale’s rejection of him over forty years before, Crowley had not mentioned their single kiss, and nor had the angel. In the intervening years, they had developed a quaint friendship, of sorts, meeting every two to three weeks to swap stories of devilish or angelic triumph, or indulging in the rarer switching of temptations. Though Crowley still found the angel to be secretly and annoyingly adorable as (his own devilish) hell, at least they could be around each other, without any awkward tension.

Or so he convinced himself.

“Calling Aziraphale…” The smooth computerised voice spoke. “I’m sorry, all lines to London are currently busy.”

Growling, Crowley sped faster through the forest area, determined to find one of the few public phone boxes still available in London.

_Come on… come on…_

Three kilometres west of Piccadilly Station, he slammed the Bentley to a stop in front of one, keeping the engine running, as he rushed out of the car and tore open the phone box door. _Coins… coins_ … digging into his pockets, he discovered twenty pence and slid the coin into the slot. Aziraphale answered within six rings.

“I’m sorry but we quite definitely closed,” prim and proper as always.

“Aziraphale, it’s me. We need to talk.”

“Yes, I think we do. I assume this is about-“

Whatever the angel presumed it was going to be about, he was wrong.

“Armageddon,” Crowley said.

*

Back to their usual meeting place in St James’s Park. In front of their bench, a child, who had been baiting nearby ducks coming out of the water, was now being chased by them down the path, while his screaming mother ran along behind him and the squawking fowl. In usual circumstance, Aziraphale would jump up and use his angelic powers to cease the child from any potential danger. For now, however, he was more concerned with the absurdity relating to another child born of an American diplomat.

“We will win, of course,” Aziraphale said, with clear pride in his tone.

“You really believe that?” Crowley asked.

“Of course! All part of the grand plan!”

Aziraphale obviously didn’t understand the true horrific scope as to what was about to occur.

“It’s all going to be rather lovely,” Aziraphale continued.

_Lovely? Oh Aziraphale!_

Lovely was… beyond an understatement. Not even the most grotesque of Crowley’s demonic nature could describe the absolute devastation and horror that would occur to every living thing, should the apocalypse come into effect. Countless dead on both sides, countless more horrifically injured in the great war. No more of the finer things in life that Aziraphale so enjoyed. No more cream puffs, no more bow ties. No more books.

Possibly no more Aziraphale. Or Crowley.

Determined to get through to him, Crowley suggested lunch. From St James’s Park, to Crowley’s Bentley, to the restaurant, Aziraphale continued to be his bubbly angelic self, causing Crowley to realise his companion didn’t grasp the gravity of the situation.

Arriving at the restaurant, Crowley was content lounge around in his seat watching him eat. Fork to food. Food to mouth. Simple, graceful movements. Sensual. Definitely sensual.

Sensuality wouldn’t exist in the coming apocalypse. At least, not in the way neither Aziraphale nor Crowley would enjoy.

“That was scrumptious,” Aziraphale placed down his fork. “So, what are you in the mood for now?”

“Alcohol! Quite extraordinary amounts of alcohol!” Crowley demanded.

If he was going to convince Aziraphale they had to come up with a plan to cease Armageddon, perhaps alcohol would open the angel up to suggestion.

*

Walking into the book shop, Aziraphale repeated his usual mantra; that he was an angel and Crowley a demon and thus, they couldn’t work together…. despite working together for thousands of years. Would Aziraphale ever recognised his own hypocrisy. Or was it hypocrisy? Crowley admitted to complete mystification as to how the angel’s immense brain functioned. He was truly an enigma.

“Get thee behind me, foul fiend!” Aziraphale said and beamed. “After you.”

Crowley caught the reference. Aziraphale had said the exact same phrase when they first met, after Crowley had attempted a clumsy verbal seduction. Was this Aziraphale’s way of informing him that he had forgiven him? Was this his absurd sense of humour? What exactly went on in Aziraphale’s brain? If Crowley could be tempted, he would allow another to tempt him to obtain a magnifying glass that could peer into the angel’s brain and distract the secrets from inside.

They strolled through the bookstore’s main room, to the smaller room to the back, where Aziraphale dug around in a row of piled crates for the wine.

“Aha!” He brought the bottle up, lips stretched in triumph, before walking over to his desk and pulling out two glasses, filling both and handing one to Crowley.

“To the end of the world!” Crowley said.

Both toasted the glasses together and drank.

“Crowley…” Aziraphale’s pale brows knotted together, lips pursing in the manner that always occurred before he was about to make a statement of great importance. “I should remind you my denunciation from that night over forty years ago still stands. I cannot be intimate with you. I am sorry.”

Crowley raised his own right eyebrow. “Now that is interesting, Aziraphale, because my mind wasn’t even going in that direction. I’d advise you take your emphasis off your angelic…” He waved a hand over Aziraphale’s crotch. “And to the task at hand, which is more important than our own personal history.”

Aziraphale’s entire face turned such a violent purple, he could have gone down to hell itself and presumably felt cool despite the scorching blaze. In response, Crowley stalked over to the desk, picked up the wine bottle, snatched the glass out of Aziraphale’s hand and poured more red wine inside.

“Drink up,” he said, handing the glass over.

“I am so sorry, Crowley,” Aziraphale said. “I am most dreadfully embarrassed.”

Crowley shrugged, in an imperceptible rise and fall of his right shoulder.

“Drink up,” he said, with a gentler tone.

*

And so it was decided. Alcohol was, indeed, the best invention ever created by humans. With the mind lubricating effect, Aziraphale was now open to Crowley’s mental intrusion, in which he used all of his charisma, to convince the angel it was in both of their best interests to work together.

In the interest of all of the world, and perhaps even the universe.

Crowley wasn’t going to admit to himself that the way Aziraphale’s blue irises lit up with delight, at the concept of encouraging the young antichrist towards the light, ignited a painful/delightful fluttering in his stomach.

No, he was going to keep it strictly business between them.

*

Strictly business was, indeed, kept for the first eleven years of the antichrist ‘s life. After five years of intricate strategizing, Crowley and Aziraphale separately arrived at the homestead, Crowley as the new nanny and Aziraphale as the gardener. From then on, the child was subjected to a constant game of one-upmanship between the demon and angel, with both convinced they had the upper hand. Crowley would whisper demonic temptation and Aziraphale was more obvious with his angelic temptation. All in all, to Crowley, the child was working out fine, hadn’t killed anyone yet but also hadn’t performed any miracles. For the antichrist that was a miracle in itself.

One major focus was also keeping their respective superiors from the reality of their plotting. So far, Crowley’s superiors were not aware of Aziraphale and he wished to keep it that way. He was certain Aziraphale, in turn, had also kept knowledge of Crowley away from his own superiors.

With the sun irritating and too pleasant and warm on his back and shoulders as he stood in the overly manicured antichrist family garden, Crowley asked Aziraphale what would happen if the angel’s superiors learned of his dealings with a demon.

Sitting against a wooden fence in his gardener’s outfit, as Warlock ran in front of them, laughing and chasing a butterfly, Aziraphale frowned.

“To be honest, I’m not entirely sure. They would ban me from earth, for sure. Most probably place me in a lower position. An angelic desk job, of sorts, sorting through birth records of souls to be born. It would be agony.”

Crowley decided not to inform Aziraphale what would happen to himself, should his superiors discover the extent of his own contact with the angel; destruction, at the very least, the end of his life in the most horrific, painful way possible.

Holy fire.

They wouldn’t stop there. After his death, they would go after Aziraphale. No, he amended, _before_ his death. They would force Crowley to watch whatever brutalities they devised to impose upon the angel, before finally giving them both the indignity of death. Crowley understood his demon companions well. They would focus their attention on Aziraphale before himself, merely for the amusement of hearing the angel scream.

Crowley found it ironic he was the one who kept pushing for him and Aziraphale to work together, even with his awareness of the horror of the outcome, should both be discovered by the other demons.

The knowledge of said conclusion made the importance of their quest all the more relevant. Risking brutality and death should they both be discovered would be worth it, if they averted the apocalypse.

“Do I want to know what would happen if your side discover what we are doing?” Aziraphale asked.

“No, I’d suggest not,” Crowley replied.

*

Crowley begged Aziraphale not to do it. He squirmed and ordered and considered threatening him with demonic punishment… he wasn’t sure what type of demonic punishment but he was sure he could come up with a suitable plan to stop the maniacal gleam in Aziraphale’s eyes, his clear inner excitement ramping up.

Too late, as usual, Aziraphale did as he wished. Ironic the angel who couldn’t ‘disobey’ his superiors, ignored the demon he was helping to raise the antichrist with, and exerted his own autonomy, when it came to Warlock’s eleventh birthday party. Crowley told himself it was humiliating for him to view such a pathetic show. This was true… mainly. He wasn’t going to admit the darker revelation; as much as he didn’t wish to be humiliated, he moreover didn’t wish to see Aziraphale humiliated.

Hence, Aziraphale fumbled through obvious card and bunny tricks, while the children sitting before him jeered and taunted, his clumsiness increasing with each harsh rebuke from his unimpressed crowd. For the first time, the knowledge that a huge hound was to be sent up to charge its way through the tykes, was a blessing, to Crowley, especially when the birthday cake started to fly.

In the end, it didn’t turn out too terribly. Aziraphale was now coated with birthday cake and the birthday boy himself went up to the angel to thank him for the best party he’d ever had, thanks to the food slinging fun. On the way to the car to wait for the hound, Crowley mentioned this to Aziraphale, who was not in the mood to be perked up by the birthday boy’s enthusiasm, judging by his uncharacteristic disgruntled expression.

Not that it mattered. Not that any of it mattered. Time to wait for the hound to arrive, and try deal with what to do then. Crowley supposed they could kill the hound. Dead dog. Child can’t name it. No apocalypse. Mission accomplished.

Not a bad idea-

The radio sparked to life.

“Hello Crowley.”

“Ah... hi, who is this?”

Dagon… liked to ramble on, assert his authority…

_Yes yes, what is it?_

_Oh, the hell hound…_

The hell hound was already meant to be there.

_Ah…_

Crowley spluttered out an explanation of the hellhound, which definitely was with them, and switched off the radio.

Wrong boy. Aziraphale and himself had spent the eleven years devising and then executing a plot to monitor and affect the life of a boy who had less to do with the cosmic consequences of the universe than any other boy born of an American diplomat, or an English diplomat or Russian teacher or Danish firefighter… or any other eleven year old child in the world except for one-

The one who him and the angel managed to not trace, not raise, not have any effect on whatsoever.

The antichrist, who was now, in that moment, discovering a lovely new pet, thanks to his and Aziraphale’s stuff up.

There was only one thing left to do, to fix this problem.

They both needed to get mind boggling drunk.

*

Back at the bookstore. Whiskey. Yes, better than the wine. They needed to be so drunk they were seeing into the future without using any of their powers.

As Aziraphale poured the whiskey, he reminded Crowley of the greater of his lies. This wasn’t fair, not at this time. Everyone lied. Sure, he may have … stretched the truth… with the ‘influencing Hitler’ scenario but didn’t that account for what a brilliant demon he was? No, he shouldn’t be held accountable for what had occurred here. It was not right. It was not fun-

“Something’s changed…” Crowley said sniffing the air, as Aziraphale sat down on the other side of the table from him.

“Oh, it’s a new cologne. My barber suggested-“

“I know what you smell like!” Crowley snapped and attuned his senses. Sour… not not sour… sour and bitter. More pleasant than Aziraphale’s floral cologne, combined with the natural atmosphere-just-after-a-rainstorm scent of his angelic being. “The hell hound has found its master.”

“You sure?”

Of course, Crowley was sure. Aziraphale didn’t trust him not to lie? He wouldn’t lie about such a serious scenario. The dog had found the boy and the boy had named it.

“We’re doomed,” Crowley said.

“Well then, welcome to the end times,” Aziraphale said, taking a shot of his whiskey.

“Indeed,” Crowley allowed the soothing mixture to burn down his throat, closing his eyelids to savour in the bitter texture.

Sensing Aziraphale’s focus on him, he opened his eyes and favoured Aziraphale with a questioning glance. The angel put his glass down on the table and skirted around the edge, to stand before Crowley. Puzzled, but intrigued enough to play along, Crowley put down his own glass and looked up to the angel.

Aziraphale leant down and cupped Crowley’s chin in his palm, his touch tender, unsure, before his lips brushed against Crowley’s. Soft, soft. Hot cold, voracious. Crowley moaned, gripping the back of his head and pulling him further forward, their tongues clashing. Aziraphale's tongue tasted of bitter whiskey, his disgusting floral combined with beguiling rain before a storm scent engulfing Crowley's nostrils. As was his custom, the angel had acted in the exact opposite way Crowley would have presupposed. After being informed of the end of days, the Crowley of seconds before Aziraphale pounced on him would have been convinced of the angel being determined to come up with a solution.

Not that it mattered, especially when Aziraphale lowered, so his thighs now straddled Crowley’s, weight heavy on his, tongue now hot, too hot in Crowley’s mouth but conversely cold. Freezing. Crowley’s tongue was going to snap off. It was glorious, as though Aziraphale was devouring him, eating deep into his soul.

Aziraphale pulled back, smile lacking in its usual effervescence.

“If it is to be end times, why shouldn’t we?” Aziraphale plucked at Crowley’s shirt. “We both know this was always going to end this way. May as well go out with the veritable bang.” Aziraphale tittered cute laughter.

Yes, that did sound perfectly agreeable. Why not? Time to finally put an end to the tedious and ridiculous tension every time they met.

On the other hand, no. This was the worst time to be engaging in such intimacies.

“So, you’re just going to give up? Crowley asked. “Accept the end of the world with the helping of great sex?”

“Is that what you’re promising?” This was a new side to the angel, yet again. A side Crowley in any other circumstance would have enjoyed.

Crowley, as a demon, told himself he should be throwing Aziraphale down onto the desk and then slamming them both into untold heights of ecstasy. But then, he was never a really good demon.

“Get off me, Aziraphale…” Crowley sighed.

“What’s wrong?” Aziraphale said, doing as Crowley bid and moving back to his seat.

“What’s _wrong_? I refuse to accept this is the end, as you say! Okay, we messed up. We messed up terribly. But we can make it right. In fact, I’d argue it’s now our _duty_ to make it right.”

“What can we do?” Aziraphale’s nose crinkled. “As you say, the boy already has named the dog.”

Crowley stood up and spun around, holding his hands up in the air. “Do you hear calamity outside? Panic? No, because nothing has happened… yet. Which means we have time… to come up with a plan.”

“You have to admit, Crowley, our last ‘plan’ didn’t exactly go well,” Now Aziraphale’s lips pursed, along with his nose crinkle.

“But next time it will!” Crowley said. “Listen to me angel, it will work this time. It has to. The fate of the world depends on it.”

Aziraphale’s brow continued with his lips and nose to scrunch, so Crowley reached over and took his hand. The long fingered body part was warm and pliant in his own.

“I have great trust in both our abilities to get ourselves out of any predicament. We have been doing it, after all, for four thousand years. We will find the child and we will sort it all out.”

Aziraphale’s features smoothed and he broke out into one of his glorious smiles.

“Yes, that would be lovely. If we can find the child… yes that would work.”

_Good, now that’s settled._

“Alright…” Crowley let go of his hand, stood up and unfastened his pants.

“What on earth are you doing?” Aziraphale’s mouth unhinged.

“On earth, I’m hastening what we were getting into before.”

“Well no, the moment has passed.”

Crowley let out an audible sigh of frustration, fastened his pants and sat back down, reaching for his whiskey again and taking a big gulp. He couldn’t even tell himself he was in anyway surprised by Aziraphale’s change in behaviour.

“Before, I was… I was convinced our situation was destitute. Now,” again with the uplift of lips. “Now I have hope again.”

So, intimacy with Crowley was associated to Aziraphale with losing hope? He had to admit, Aziraphale could be a charmer, when he wanted to. As always, he suspected the angel was not aware of the times he was being unwittingly cutting in his remarks.

_He would have made a fine demon. Tragic, really._

“Crowley, I wouldn’t have… If I didn’t want to…”

“How about we just not talk about this?” Crowley asked.

“I told you when we first met, that intimacy with a demon would break a sacred vow between me and my master. As I considered it the end of the world anyway, well at that moment, it didn’t matter-“

“I said shut it, angel!”

“Oh… yes… I’m sorry…”

Both sat in tense silence a long moment, before Crowley stood, pushing the chair away.

“Where are you going?” Aziraphale asked.

“Back to my apartment. Let’s stay in contact.”

“Of course…” Aziraphale walked Crowley out of the room and through the second to the front door. “Crowley…”

Crowley turned to face him. Perhaps he did spy a longing in the angel’s diminutive features… but it was always so complicated, so detailed from the simple intimacy he desired.

_Why did you turn him down, then? He would have allowed you to act out any of your carnal desires with him._

The other, moral side of Crowley spoke, the side part that had once been an angel, before he fell.

_Because he was acting out of desperation. The outcome would have been disastrous, and you both know it._

“Speak soon,” Crowley said and departed quickly, before Aziraphale could respond.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to all who are reading/commenting/bookmarking/sending kudos :)

By the time his house phone switched over to voice mail, Crowley’s mood, which had started that morning at the dungeons of hell level, had decreased even further. Being visited by his demon superiors via morning television, followed by discovering one of his house plants had a spot on its leaf (why didn’t any of them ever LEARN?) tended to have that effect on his fragile disposition. Upon hearing Aziraphale’s voice, Crowley considered letting him believe he wasn’t home. At that point, Aziraphale’s cultured chirpiness was not going to give him the uplift he needed.

But then, the fate of the world was at stake.

“Listen, I have sort of an idea,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley snatched the receiver up.

“What?”

“Ah… hello… when we did the baby swap eleven years ago, could something have gone wrong?”

“What?” Crowley repeated.

Well, great…in all of his genius, why didn’t Crowley consider this? It was simple, so simple it made absolute sense. Of course something did go wrong.

_Why didn’t I see the obvious in front of me?_

He had been to blame the entire time, had caused more mayhem than his superiors could even foresee. Ironic, really. If he had switched the wrong boy, well wasn’t that what a demon was designated to do? To cause chaos?

If he took his reasoning further, he could conceivably be labelled the perfect demon. The others in both heaven and hell should be lining up to kiss his feet, once the flames dissipated and dead had been counted. Of course, this wasn’t going to occur. If anything, if he did survive the Apocalypse, he wouldn’t survive much longer once the other demons got hold of him.

Once Aziraphale was in his Bentley and both were zooming through the streets of London, the angel continued with his theory. Yes, the wrong child had been taken and now they had to figure out which one was the right one. Crowley had come to a similar conclusion when the hell dog didn’t appear at Warlock’s eleventh birthday party, but had failed to link it back to himself. The issue remained, how to find a child out of the billions of people on the planet? Even if they narrowed it down, to eleven-year-old boys, that would account for at least millions of children. Narrowing down further children born at the same time as Warlock, in the same hospital of the chattering nuns… Crowley’s head ached, brain pulsing against the hard skull.

“Watch the road! Watch the road!” Aziraphale screamed, as a woman, who had been crossing, jumped back and landed on her behind, the car whistling past her so close it caused her coat to lift up.

“She’s on the street, she knows the risk she’s taking!” Crowley argued.

Aziraphale continued to complain about his driving, causing the throb in Crowley’s skull to increase. Aziraphale was generally a delight to be around, or as Crowley, as a demon described his and the angel’s encounters, agony to be around (sweet exquisite _agony_ ). However, this time, the sweetness of the agony was overtaken by the irritation of the entire situation. He couldn’t blame Aziraphale for his own personal gloom. Even so, it took all of his resolve not to push the angel out of the car.

“Music!” Aziraphale said. “Why don’t we put a little…” He took out the Velvet Underground cd from the glovebox. “What’s a ‘Velvet Underground?’”

“Oh, you wouldn’t like it.” Crowley, who had once come in on Aziraphale dancing around the room to Brahms, was convinced this kind of music was not going to satisfy him.

Aziraphale’s next remark almost caused Crowley to slam the car to a grinding halt.

The angel had described the band as bebop. Even with the world about to end and all of the absurdity that was thus ensuing, this was the single most bizarre statement to ever reach Crowley’s tympanic membranes.

_Bebop. Bebop?!_

Crowley glanced at Aziraphale, as though noticing him for the first time. Same blond curls, same merry blue eyes and ridiculous bow tie. Even after so many years, Aziraphale was as cute as ever.

_Oh no…_

The demon, Crowley had, indeed deteriorated, to still be so incredibly attracted to one who described the Velvet Underground as _bebop_. No matter. Best to get to the hospital as soon as possible, and sort this all out, so he could get back home and yell at his plants some more.

_Yes, yes, sounds a good plan._

Gritting his teeth, he pressed down harder on the accelerator.

*

Arriving at the red bricked buildings, both stepped out of the Bentley and stood before the archway entrance. An odd expression suffused Aziraphale’s diminutive features, as he placed his hand on his chest.

“This feels love,” he said, with a gentle, though awed tone.

Crowley had no idea what to make of such a nonsensical sentence, so replied

“No, this is definitely the place.”

Aziraphale then described love as ‘spooky’, as the opposite of what Crowley liked. Well, the angel was wrong. Crowley liked spooky. Crowley could handle spooky.

_Love? What does that even mean?_

As a demon, Crowley didn’t experience _love_. Lust… yes. Warmth. He’d been on the planet for so long that he’d attest to that. Fondness and elation, at the sight of another.

( _Have you noticed you only ever feel these sensations when you’re with Aziraphale?)_

_No… no… I don’t feel love. It’s impossible._

Crowley shook himself of his wayward musings and walked, with Aziraphale, through the entrance. They had only gone a metre forward, when both were startled by the projectiles that slammed into Crowley’s fingers and Aziraphale’s back, causing red and blue stains, respectively. Expecting the joy of sharp pain, Crowley was puzzled by the lack of the unpleasant (therefore immensely enjoyable) sensation, before the inner realisation occurred.

Ah, it all made sense. Fake weaponry. Paint ball.

Aziraphale, being the prissy sort, was upset about the stain on his jacket top. Not wishing for his eardrums to be pierced by the angel’s ranting (he certainly did not care for Aziraphale’s _comfort_ ), Crowley blew the stain off, with his own mouth, the little hairs on the back of his neck standing up, as he watched the breath pass over an errant curl escaping from the others to stick up towards the base of Aziraphale’s neck. Aziraphale’s resultant smile and gratitude had no effect on him whatsoever (sure, the hairs on his arm also rose but that was due to the ambient atmosphere, he was certain). No, Crowley only performed the magic to shut Aziraphale up.

After dealing with the man who had run up to admonish them for ruining their game (the fact he instantly fainted after viewing Crowley’s demonic vision took some of the fun out of his prank), both walked over to pick up and examine the weapon used to shoot the paintball.

“I thought your lot disapproved of guns?” Crowley asked, pointing the weapon at the angel.

“We do!” Aziraphale reached over and aimed the gun away from himself, to the ground. “Unless they’re in the right hands. Then they give weight to a moral argument… I think”

_Hm… moral argument, huh?_

Moving through the decrepit building to their left, the usual frustration sprouted in Crowley’s being.

Where the hell were these nuns, anyway? And what happened to the hospital?

“… who’s winning?” A woman screamed, rushing past.

“You’re all going to lose,” Crowley shouted after her sprinting figure.

_Now, that was a lark._

Judging by the angel’s pout, Aziraphale was not impressed.

_What a surprise._

“Everyone has the right to free will… just think of it as the microcosm of the universe,” Crowley said.

“They’re _murdering_ each other?” Aziraphale asked.

Switching the paint over to real bullets was another way for Crowley to have fun and release the stress that had been building, over the past days. The utter shock on Aziraphale’s face, when he became aware of this nugget of information was too precious. Crowley wished there was an old-style artist there, a Michelangelo, to preserve the angel’s countenance in a valuable painting Crowley could hang in his plant room; another beautiful object to spiff up the place and remind his lush plants what they needed to achieve. Utter perfection.

_Explain to me your ‘giving weight to a moral argument’ now, angel._

Of course, no one was going to die, would cause too much paperwork from down below. Sure, they’d love it if every human there gave in to their base impulses and indulged in a cathartic blood bath. But Crowley… no, even viewing murder tended to give him abdominal cramps… which was incredible, considering the lack of food he tended to partake in.

Still, it would have been amusing for Crowley, to continue with the lie, merely to observe Aziraphale’s shocked reaction.

_Do you want him to believe you’re an absolute monster, after so many thousands of years?_

“No, they aren’t. No one’s killing each other…,” Crowley admitted.

“You know, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, beaming. “I’ve always thought that deep down, you really were such a nice-“

_Nice? Nice!_

Aziraphale didn’t have it in him to be deliberately insulting, however he’d said a few words to Crowley, throughout the years, which could be interpreted as insults. Foul (understandable) disgusting, sordid, repulsive (yep, at times, though Aziraphale always pointed out that he was referencing Crowley’s actions, not the man himself) Satan’s imp (borderline offensive) but Nice? The little old lady who came into Aziraphale’s bookstore to offer him baked cookies whenever she bought a book was _nice_ , the teenage boys around the street from Crowley’s house who worked in the soup kitchen were _nice_ , the people who had rushed over to help said little old lady when she fell outside Aziraphale’s store were _nice_.

Nice was dainty and cute and everything Crowley was not.

_I am. Not. Nice._

Slamming Aziraphale against the wall, to scream at him, Crowley deliberately pressed into his soft torso, in a show of dominance, their noses touching. Aziraphale didn’t flinch, didn’t struggle, didn’t display any sign whatsoever of being the least frightened or disturbed by Crowley’s outburst. If anything, the angel, who Crowley would admit was… nice…was looking back to him, with the expression that read ‘only a nice being would get so offended at being labelled ‘nice’’. But Crowley wasn’t. Would a _nice_ demon be aroused by manhandling an angel in said way? Would a _nice_ demon be pressing his sudden erection into the angel’s thigh? Judging by the growing hardness against Crowley’s own thigh, it was obvious he wasn’t… upset by Crowley forcing himself into his personal space. Would it be _nice_ if Crowley ravaged his mouth? Rubbed himself against-

“Excuse me, gentlemen. Sorry to break up an intimate moment.”

The woman walking up the hall before them was instantly recognisable. She was not only one of the order of chattering nuns, but the one Crowley had directly given the baby to.

Finally, they were getting somewhere.

Or not. Thanks to Hastur, any record of what transpired in regards to the swapped child burned in the fire of the ‘closing’ of the hospital. So, back to the beginning again.

Perhaps they should give up. Go back to Aziraphale’s bookstore and continue what Aziraphale had started the night he sat on Crowley’s lap.

No, Crowley told himself that was too easy. This was his mistake. He had to be the one to fix it.

*

“There is a very peculiar feeling to this entire area,” Aziraphale said, seated in the passenger seat beside Crowley, as the car thundered down the moonlit path. “Love…flashes of love…”

_Oh no, not this again._

Crowley wasn’t sure what was happening, in concerned with the angel, but he wasn’t in the mood for his ramblings. Especially in relation to love. Crowley didn’t do love. And he didn’t do nice.

The woman on the bike shot across the car so quickly Crowley’s reflexes weren’t fast enough to stop in time. Too late, she collided with the car with a terrified scream. The car skidded to a halt and both sat in tense silence a moment.

“You hit someone,” Aziraphale said.

“I didn’t. Someone hit me.”

Cautious, both stepped out of the car. Not Crowley’s issue but then Aziraphale would be upset if he didn’t at least investigate.

“Let there be light,” Aziraphale clicked his fingers.

The forest lit up, to reveal a… Crowley’s lower organs performed an absurd somersault in his peritoneal cavity… very pretty dark-haired human woman.

_Flashes of love, flashes of love…_

The words echoed around Crowley’s head.

“How the hell did it do that?” The woman asked, with a groggy tone.

Crowley frowned and clicked, darkening the forest once more.

Of course, Aziraphale went over to help her, mending her broken bones.

_Flashes of love._

With his stomach now twisting around itself, Crowley observed the two closely.

Of course, Aziraphale fixed her bike as well, using his angelic magic to create a bike rack on the back of the Bentley. Crowley ( _flashes_ ) would rather ( _of)_ not help ( _love_ ) this human, but Aziraphale insisted.

_Why do I always give in to him?_

“Do get in, my dear,” Aziraphale said, opening the car door for her.

On close observation, Aziraphale wasn’t treating her any different than he would any other human.

_Flashes of love._

What was so special about her? Why did Aziraphale care so much?

_Because he’s a wretched angel, remember? It’s his moral duty to help!_

“So, where are we taking you?” Crowley asked the clear bewildered woman.

“Back to the village. I’ll give you directions.”

_Good, so not far._

Amusing himself, Crowley played Queen’s ‘Bicycle Race’ on the short trip to the woman’s house, admonishing Aziraphale for placing gears on the bike where there were none before. He had never gone so far with any other human, had he?

 _He’s always helping other humans. What is wrong with you tonight?_ Crowley admonished himself.

The clench of his abdomen had still not loosened.

When they dropped the woman off at her quaint cottage, Crowley was relieved to see her go. Aziraphale of course took the gears off the bike, to return it to its original state.

“Get in angel!” Crowley ordered.

Aziraphale hopped back in, closed the door and Crowley drove as fast as he could away from her and the ‘flashes of love’ the angel kept moaning about.

“What does that even mean? Flashes of love?”

“I’m not sure…” Aziraphale said.

_Sure… you’re not sure…_

“She was a pretty human…” Crowley said, with a wary tone.

“Oh Crowley…” Aziraphale broke out tittering laughter. “I didn’t mean…Humans as a whole are beautiful and majestic. I do not differentiate. When I said flashes of love, I couldn’t possibly mean myself, as I could never love any human more than I love the whole. They are all so perfect in their peculiarities-“

“Alright, shut it Aziraphale!” Crowley said, the tightness of his stomach releasing.

_Why do you care, anyway? Aziraphale is free to experience ‘flashes of love’ with anyone he wants._

_(Oh come on, Crowley, you know the reason why. Stop deluding yourself.)_

“Oh Crowley…” Aziraphale’s ensuing smile was both kind and warm. Crowley bit down hard on his tongue, to prevent himself from saying anything he would regret. “Flashes of love between _humans_ … at least that’s what I think.”

Crowley let out a loud exhale.

“How about we go to get something to eat?”

The gastronomist in Aziraphale wouldn’t be able to turn the idea down.

*

Though it was normal for Crowley not to hear from Aziraphale for weeks on end, something was amiss. From the night Crowley had found the book in the back of Crowley’s car accidentally left by the crazy cyclist, he had been acting peculiar.

Using his sources to find the boy was turning out, as usual for Crowley, to lead to nothing.

Crowley was ready to accede to the inevitable, that there was nothing more to be done. If the Armageddon was to happen, then why was he even staying on the earth?

Moreover, he had also accepted the importance of Aziraphale’s presence in his life. The angel was irritating in his literal ‘holier than thou’ at times attitude, but Crowley could not bear to escape from the coming destruction without the angel’s cherubic face beside him, his easy smile.

The meeting at the bandstand proved to Crowley that something had happened to Aziraphale. Clear dread accentuated the lines of his face. Had he talked to the other angels? Crowley suspected as much. Those charmers tended to have this effect on Aziraphale.

What’s more, Aziraphale referenced the ‘great plan’. Yes, proof he’d talked to his superiors. They’d gotten to him.

“We find the boy; my agents can do it,” Crowley said, although he didn’t actually believe his agents could find a clown if one was standing in front of him honking his red nose.

“And then what? Eliminate him?” Aziraphale asked.

Well, that was an idea. Simple. Crowley didn’t trust either could do it without making the situation worse, however. And, of course, Aziraphale insisted that, as a demon, he perform the deed

Murder a child.

Despite Crowley never killing a single person his entire life. A child? Was that how the angel perceived him?

Fine, he was leaving. He didn’t have to listen to this nonsense.

“You can’t leave, Crowley!” Aziraphale said, distress obvious in his voice.

_Fine then, come with me! Leave with me, Aziraphale. There is only me and you. That is the way it has always been, why can’t you comprehend what to me is obvious?_

The hope lighting up the pale irises was intermingled with panic. Crowley longed to tell him his anxiety was not warranted. He would be protected. Crowley would make certain no harm came to him.

“Go off together…” he said, the hope continued there, in his tone. It was subtle, but it was there. This, in turn, gave Crowley faith, not of the angelic or even demon type, but of a more intangible kind.

It had taken years of denial for Crowley to finally accept the truth, the intangible quality between them now went beyond tension and affection.

Went beyond mere _flashes_ of love.

“Listen to yourself,” Aziraphale said, the scorn in his tone deflating Crowley’s growing optimism.

Not wishing to give up, Crowley reminded Aziraphale how long they had known each other. Thousands of years. They were… friends.

_But we’re not merely friends though, are we?_

Based on the angel’s clear vulnerability, however, Crowley trod lightly. One mention of anything more and Aziraphale was apt to run away.

“We’re not _friends_. You’re a demon. I’m an angel. I don’t even like you!” This time, a plea was added to his tone, a desperation for Crowley to convince him otherwise.

Strange words, for an angel who didn’t _like_ a demon. Constantly finding excuses to be with him, laughing with him, chatting with him for hours, getting drunk with him… crawling on top of his lap to kiss him…

Crowley was all too aware that Aziraphale’s current harsh words came from fear. Fear of what would ensue if their relationship was found out, fear of taking the step beyond their obvious friendship. The more stable side of Crowley was willing to take his hand, walk his way through it, replace the trepidation discolouring the blue eyes darker with his typical affection.

“Even if I did know where the antichrist was, I wouldn’t tell you. We’re on opposite sides!” Again with the pleading tone.

_Yes, yes, he wants you to tell him this isn’t true. Come on, convince him._

“We’re on _our_ side,” Crowley said.

“There is no _our side_ , Crowley! Not any more. It’s over!”

With those words, all of the anticipation that had been expanding in waves of thrills in Crowley’s chest deflated, as though Aziraphale had slammed a dagger straight into his heart.

Relenting to the inevitable ( _Why did I think for a moment that Aziraphale would even consider running away with me?),_ Crowley told himself he tried. There was no getting through to him, not with the Apocalypse merely days away. Aziraphale was just too damned stubborn. The worst part was that Aziraphale wasn’t actively trying to hurt him. He was simply stating things the way he saw them.

_Fine, if he wants to act like that!_

Though a part of Crowley told himself to stay, to break through Aziraphale’s resistance, a larger part, the part that stung from Aziraphale’s harsh words, told himself to leave the angel and never return.

“Have a nice doomsday,” Crowley said, walking away. For the first time in four thousand years, tears stinging his eyelids.

_Damn him to my hell for having this effect on me._

*

His plants back in his apartment were lusher than ever. Even so, Crowley took a chainsaw to the most beautiful, showing the others what happened, when they disobeyed his orders to be even more lovely.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thanks to all who are reading!  
> Warning in this chapter for a discussion between demons with very 'future rapey' vibes. (However, nothing occurs as a result of the conversation).

By the time Crowley had arrived back his place of dwelling, he’d managed to keep his absurd and pesky positive emotions at bay. Humans dwelled on emotions. Demons preferred not to focus on such silly sentiments, but rather on with the task at hand, which was mayhem and destruction. No, he couldn’t believe this to be true either. Demons dwelled on such positive emotions as pain and anguish, sorrow and mourning, as a feast for their fiendish soul. Only, for Crowley, in a world that had gone topsy-turvey, where up was down and left was now right, what was meant to be positive emotions for demons, had switched to negative, for himself.

The sharp wire that dug into his heart, courtesy of his anguish from his earlier dealing with Aziraphale should have provided a pleasant, soothing sensation. However, with each deepening laceration of the pumping organ, his demonic mind had no input for the negativity it was experiencing.

Not that it mattered. Not that any of it mattered. He’d decide on a place to wait out the apocalypse and leave, wouldn’t even bother to give his plants the attention they so needed. Taking his globe out of his holder, he considered where to go. Unfortunately, nowhere was going to be far enough, not on the earth, anyway. He supposed he could visit another inhabited planet in the universe. However, none of the other planets held ( _Aziraphale_ ) the spark ( _stupid angel_ ) the ( _with his_ ) earth held ( _stupid bow tie_ ). When he had been an angel, Crowley had even helped mould minor sections of the universe, had cherished being a part of God’s work. All of the angels were blessed to build towards their creator’s ineffable plan.

_Ineffable, mind… not ‘Great’._

He recalled, in their final conversation, Aziraphale’s reference to the ‘Great Plan’.

“Great Plan?” He cried out. “God show me your Great Plan! I know… you’re testing them. You shouldn’t be testing them to destruction. Not to the end of the world.”

With the news reporting on the bizarre events occurring; the rising of the lost city of Atlantis, the appearance of a Kraken in the ocean destroying the boats of Japanese whale hunters, Crowley had to admit, the antichrist, wherever he was, had style. But he was ultimately still a child, a human child. Crowley had been around humans long enough to consider them at times to be arrogant, foolish, ridiculous, cruel and barbaric. But his dealings with Aziraphale had shown him another side to humans. They were capable of great love, of sacrifice and honour. Humans were the only beings in the universe, as far as Crowley could gather, who held a sense of humour. Where this impressive gift came from, Crowley wasn’t sure. But it was from human’s laughter that demons and angels discovered laughter and humour. Aziraphale had caught on very early on, to the human’s humour.

No, they didn’t deserve to be destroyed.

Pulling out his chair, Crowley sat down. What to do? Aziraphale had rejected him and he had no word back from God, no reassurance that there would be meaning to all of the coming destruction. But then, when had he heard from the almighty since he had fallen, so many millennia before?

_Ah forget it!_

Standing, he stalked over to his plant’s room, grabbing his spray bottle on the way.

“I’m back!”

From a slight quiver, the leaves of every plant before him began to violently shake.

“Now, how perfect are-“

Crowley slumped his shoulders.

_Nope, just not into this, after all._

“Consider yourselves unlucky. It’s a real shame I’m not in the mood to bless you with my attention.”

Placing the bottle down, Crowley left the room, continuing back to the foyer.

What to do? Still continue on his ridiculous crusade to discover the antichrist? Leave this planet without Aziraphale?

Wasn’t there a new Pixar film playing at the cinema? Yes, quality cinema. Why not? If he was going to die, he may as well view a decent film, before the end.

*

Crowley stepped into the mostly empty cinema and sat down, frowning. Where were the other patrons? He would have expected the cinema to be full. Sure, it was during a school and work day. However, there would be truants, non-workers, retired folk. He looked around himself, blinking at the light of the projector. Was this the final horror of the antichrist’s doing? Making certain a Pixar movie made no money?

Slumping down in the chair, Crowley placed his feet up, dug into his popcorn and waited. Too many bloody ads nowadays, that was the issue. He wished they were literally bloody. That would at least make them fun to watch. If the advert for the new iPhone, with the story of the family keeping in contact over Christmas, included nanna going off her medication and slaughtering the grandchildren in front of her children…

Now _that_ was an idea to pitch to advertising executives. Bloody adverts in the front of movies. Really bring in the punters. Crowley smirked.

With precisely 99.8% of Hollywood about to be surprised as to which direction they’d be going once the apocalypse ended, the few left with an intact good soul were to be sought after by both angels and demons. Watching the previews, Crowley counted the entertainers, as they appeared, who were not guaranteed a one-way trip down to hell. Keanu Reeves had another film coming out in the cinema soon…

One.

Nope, that was it.

Just the one was going up, rather than down.

The credits came onto the screen and Crowley’s brow creased. Pixar’s animation had gone downhill in the past couple of years. This stop motion bunny looked as though a toddler had stuck together playdough to form a rough shape and then threw it to their dog to tussle with.

_Oh blast, I’m in the wrong film, aren’t I? How did I end up in the wrong cinema?_

The stop motion rabbit twisted and contorted, to resemble a vague Hester.

_Where’s a remote control when you need one?_

“What the heaven’s going on, Crowley? What have you done?” The stop motion man asked.

“Ah… Hastur…what do you mean?” Crowley’s intestinal wall tightened.

They knew. Of course, they knew. He and Aziraphale were aware it would only be a matter of time before they were discovered.

“We’re coming to collect you,” Hastur said.

Crowley shoved his popcorn down to the floor and rushed out of the room.

*  
Seeing Aziraphale walking down the street in front of the bookstore, Crowley slammed on the Bentley’s brakes, causing the vehicle to skid to a stop.

“Angel!” Crowley tore open the door and came out, standing on the other side of the car from him.

Aziraphale turned to face him, expression wary but at least engaging.

“I’m sorry, whatever I said I didn’t mean it,’ he said, moving around his car to be closer to the angel.

Crowley had meant every word. However, he was willing to…although the concept shuddered his slim frame… to be the better demon or fallen angel.

“Work with me, I’m apologising here. Yes? Good, get in the car.”

“What? No!” Aziraphale said.

Crowley was expecting this reaction but that was okay. This time he’d get through to him.

“The forces of hell have figured out it’s my fault. But that’s alright. We can run away together!”

_Yes, angel just listen. Alpha Centauri! You’ve never met the intelligent shades of colour? Some of them are vile… okay you wouldn’t like those._

“Crowley, you’re being ridiculous!”

Oh no, Aziraphale didn’t understand. He obviously believed he could get his dilemma sorted by reaching the ‘right people’. Only God wasn’t going to help him. Why didn’t he see what was obvious? God was never going to help him. God worked in mysterious ways, alright. In ways no being, not even those closest to her, could ever comprehend. God wasn’t listening. God hadn’t been listening for thousands of years.

Oh yes, but Aziraphale had his own plan, if the angel was to be believed, on par with the Great Plan, itself. Aziraphale was arrogant enough to presume that a chat from him to the almighty would cease what had been fated for over six thousand years.

_No, not arrogance, Crowley. Fear, panic… desperation to come up with any scheme, at that point, that may work, to cease the inevitable._

“That won’t happen! You’re so clever! How could someone as clever as you be so stupid?” He allowed his frustration to escape in his tone.

A deluge of disparate emotions rushed through Aziraphale’s pale irises, causing ugly/painful/titillating hope to bubble up Crowley’s system once more. Yes, he was convinced, his time he was getting through to the angel. This time the angel would accede there was nothing more to be done.

“I forgive you,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley allowed the rising hope to escape in his exhale, telling himself it wouldn’t be sporting to smack Aziraphale in the middle of the street. Instead, he moved back to the Bentley, turning back to yell at the angel once more. He was leaving. Going far away from this wretched earth. He wasn’t going to _think_ of Aziraphale ever again.

This time the emotion that shone in the pale irises was clear.

Hurt and sorrow.

Good. For the first time, when around Aziraphale, the correct emotion a demon was meant to feel, in regards to the situation, satiated his soul.

Joy.

Joy that he’d managed to emotionally wound the angel.

_Good, now you know how it feels._

Crowley sat back in the Bentley, slammed the door closed and revved the engine, taking off in a squeal of tyres.

“Crowley, you had better be home, because we’re on our way,” Hastur’s voice came through the radio speaker.

“Yeah, yeah…” Crowley said, running through a stop light and side-swiping a Mercedes. The other car spun around to a stop but the Bentley was already far in the distance, before the other car’s owner was even out of their vehicle.

“Too bad you won’t be there to fight the great war,” Ligur‘s voice now came through. “When we win, I’m going to have Gabriel’s head mounted on a plaque in my room.”

“I thought you said you were going to keep a harem of angels, as spoils to our winning?” Hastur asked.

Crowley rolled his eyes. Typical devilish disgusting idea. He couldn’t say he was surprised.

“Well, yes I’ll keep Gabriel alive for a while. He’s, after all, the handsomest angel and being one of the most powerful, it would add a touch of class to the house.”

“A touch of class?” Even with his life at stake, Crowley felt the need to butt in. “You do realise your idea of a harem of angels is a ridiculous one? For one, do you really think it’s smart to keep a bunch of powerful creatures who are your _enemies_ , captive? What’s your plan to incapacitate them? The moment you even come within distance they’ll smite you!” He now took the Bentley straight through the middle of a roundabout, causing all of the other vehicles to slam on their brakes, in a chorus of honking horns.

“Shut up, Crowley. You talk too much,” Ligur said.

“Well, to be honest, Crowley does have a point,” Hastur said.

“Look, the intricacies of the harem doesn’t matter-“

“Well, I rather think it does-“ Crowley said.

“When’s the last time you spoke to Aziraphale?” Ligur said.

Crowley frowned at the swift change in conversation, turning the Bentley around a sharp corner and nearly hitting a parked car.

“I never paid attention to him before,” Ligur continued.

“Well, he is a pathetic angel,” Hastur said. “Running a bookstore like a pansy? Indulging in high tea? Oh Crowley, whatever do you see in him?”

_He knows._

Crowley hoped his pounding heart wasn’t obvious in his fake laughter. “You two have been played! When you come over, I’ll explain everything.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Hastur,” Ligur’s voice came on the radio again. “He’s pathetic, yes. But he’s still powerful. And disgustingly sweet. It’s sickening. Yes, I never paid attention to him before until, Crowley, _you_ brought his attention to me.”

An odd tremble shook the steering wheel. It took a moment for Crowley to comprehend that the source was his hands.

“In fact,” Ligur continued. “I’d like to thank you, for introducing me to such an absurdly sweet looking angel. After your death, I’ll go pay him a visit. He’ll have the honour of being the first in my harem, before the apocalypse has even begun.”

The knowledge that this would be the potential outcome didn’t make the threat of harm from his superiors towards Aziraphale any more pleasant to hear.

_And none of this would be happening if you didn’t just leave with me, angel!_

Hastur, in a rarity for him, laughed. “This is glorious! The irony is your angel would have been safe in obscurity, before you led us straight to him. I want you to know, Crowley that after your capture, your angel is going to suffer tortures you, even with your wild imagination, wouldn’t conceive of. And many you _would_ conceive of.”

“Look, I’m almost home. And this conversation is frankly boring me. See you soon. Byeee!” Crowley up-pitched the final syllable of the final word.

_Damned grotesque demons with their sickened ideas. Why are they always so damned predictable? Rape and murder and pillaging and torture. I came up with the selfie. Now that was genius!_

Crowley pulled up in front of his place and rushed to the front door, shoving the key into the lock and sprinting inside. He didn’t have much time. Pouring the holy water into a bucket of water, he was careful as he dragged the bucket out, and positioned it over the top of an ajar door, before going into the plants' room, picking up the empty spray bottle, sitting in his favourite chair by the door and waiting.

“Crowley!” Ligur’s voice rang out from outside the door, getting closer. “We only want a little word with you!”

Crowley remained still and quiet.

“Crowley!”

Ligur was the first through the entrance. The bucket of holy water tipped down onto his head, causing agonised screams to fill the room, as he bubbled and melted to the floor, the bucket swallowing his head whole. Thus, his plots of angel harems and any other dreams for the future in general were all for naught, as his entire physicality dissolved. There was no going back, once the body was dissolved with holy water. Crowley was glad Ligur was the first to go through, being the first one to threaten direct harm to Aziraphale. Hastur was, of course, still a threat, and would be more than happy to hurt the angel, but he at least was not as psychopathic in nature. He liked to sound tough, but could be reasoned with… to some level.

Hastur, however, at that point was not ready to be reasoned with, judging by his high pitched, panicked shrieks.

“Holy water! We’ve done nothing to you!”

“Yet,” Crowley said, aiming the bottle towards him.

_Also, you threatened to harm Aziraphale. That places you at number one on my list of people I have a problem with._

“You don’t frighten me,” Hastur’s black eyes widened.

Good, Crowley’s bluff was working. Continuing to hold the bottle on the other demon, Crowley stood, hoping to keep the other demon at bay, until he came up with another tactic.

The bluff lasted less than a minute, when Hastur’s expression changed, from fear to triumph and he exploded the bottle.

“Time to go, Crowley.”

Fortunate, or unfortunate that Aziraphale took that moment to call. As much as Crowley yearned to sort out these issues they were having, this was very inappropriate time for him to want to talk.

“Yeah not a good time, got an old friend here,” Crowley said, hanging up on the angel.

Time for plan two. Convince Hastur that the entire time he had been working with the Lords of Hell, on a brilliant secret plan, that involved testing the other demon. From the spark of hope that lit up the foul countenance as he discussed his lie, a hint of pity cursed Crowley’s demonic body for the poor wretched fool.

Crowley told himself to be wary. After all, Hastur had threatened himself. Moreover, he’d threatened Aziraphale

On the pretext of calling their superiors, Crowley turned sub atomic and disappeared into the mobile phone network. As he had hoped, Hastur followed him. As pleasant as it was, to be so small, zipping around between electrons, Crowley didn’t have much time.

He pulled out of the answering machine three zeptoseconds before Hastur, trapping the other demon inside.

_Right now, that’s done. Let’s find out what Aziraphale wanted._

In an optimum world, it would be a heartfelt apology and offer of copious amounts of alcohol, for them to sort through their issues together with.

However, as this was Aziraphale, this wouldn’t be the case.

_But he has contacted you. After saying he wanted nothing to do with you, he still wants something to do with you._

Forget the answering machine, Crowley decided to drive directly to Aziraphale’s bookstore.

Queen’s ‘You’re My Best Friend’ was the most apt song Crowley could play, at that juncture, on the car’s stereo. He was convinced he would find Aziraphale, they would sort out Armageddon and then they would sort out their bizarre relationship.

Friendship or whatever the heaven it was.

Crowley didn’t care at that point. If Aziraphale wanted to keep it as friendship, fine. Because it was at the least a friendship. A good friendship. A fine one, of mutual understanding and the occasional argument sure… followed by the even rarer kiss. Okay, one kiss in six thousand years. One and a half if he counted his attempt in Roman times-

The bookstore was on fire.

Ignoring the irritating fireman out front, Crowley sprinted inside.

The exact same Queen song was playing on Aziraphale’s old record player. Weird, as the angel was not a fan of the band.

Stranger that the angel was nowhere to be seen. Where was he?

Crowley shouted out his name, in a vain attempt to bring him forward. In any second, the angel would come out of the flames, brush the soot off his immaculate suit, brighten up the entire room further with his smile and say

“Yes, Crowley?”

A flame shot out and pushed Crowley down.

_No no nonononononono_

Aziraphale wasn’t there because he wasn’t anywhere.

He was too late.

Aziraphale was no more.

Crowley supposed it was custom to experience grief at this point, an overwhelming sense of loss. However, numbness had stolen over his slender frame. Numbness and a deep abiding fury, one that steeled him, protected him from the deep anguish the true revelation of Aziraphale’s death would cause.

No more laughter and twinkling blue eyes and thoughtful conversation and gluttonous eating and prissy irritation over trifling matters. No more straightening of bow ties and Aziraphale leaning in to whisper in his ear and ridiculous dancing and-

_No no, he couldn’t… he refused…_

He allowed the fury to overcome the rush of images, to push him to look in front of him, discover the book of prophecies by Agnes Nutter.

_They won’t get away with what they did to you. Whoever they were. They will pay._

Crowley stumbled out of the fiery building and whipped off his broken sunglasses, dropping them to the ground. It wasn’t as though anyone cared about littering, at that point.

There was only one solution, to the death of Aziraphale.

Crowley was going to have to get ridiculously drunk.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all who are reading/kudosing/bookmarking.  
> Coming to the end now (I plan to have one more chapter)

The man and woman seated at the table across from Crowley were holding each other’s hands and staring into each other’s eyes, as they swayed from side to side in a frantic motion, although Crowley suspected this was more a factor of the amount of alcohol he had partaken in over the past hour, over any actual movement.

“I love you so much, baby,” the man said.

“No, _I_ love _you_ , baby,” the woman replied.

“Can I ask… CAN I ASK A QUESTION?” Crowley asked, leaning so far off the chair towards them it took all of his demonic balance not to fall to the ground. The people seated in booths around the edges of both tables cast irritated glances in his direction. This had been a common occurrence since he’d entered the bar, ordered the most expensive bottle of plonk and filled up half of his stomach, with the intent of overflowing the entire organ with the putrid liquid by the end of his drinking session.

The couple in question leaned closer to each other, the man whispering in the woman’s ear.

“WHY DO YOU CALL EACH OTHER BABY?” Crowley asked. “IS IT A REFERENCE TO YOUR REVERTING TO AN INFANT WHEN IN THE THROES OF ROMANTIC LOVE?”

The couple cast him a nervous smile and stood.

“Yes, darling, let’s get the bill,” the man said, as he helped the woman from her chair.

As they departed, walking the other direction to Crowley and thus taking the longer path to the register, a dark-haired man, sitting by himself in a booth behind them, smiled at Crowley, stood and walked over, drink in hand.

“Silly, isn’t it?” He asked, settling his pint down onto the tabletop’s scarred surface. “Why do we call each other baby?”

Crowley took another sip of his wine, peering at the two? No, one man before him. Attractive in a big, cuddly bear way. Muscular arms with sleeves of tattoos, all connected by the same theme of love, death and his mom, in a rich tapestry representing his life.

“Frank,” the man held out his hand. “You look like you need the company.”

Crowley already knew the man’s name, and that he worked as a lighting technician, specialising in concerts, and was nonplussed to meet bands and singers other humans would be in awe of. Frank called his mother, Sue, at least once a day, had two sisters, three nieces who he doted on and, at the age of thirty-nine, was hoping to meet a kind man and settle down, or so his subconscious told him. His conscious mind, which tended to be the downfall of humans, told him the handsome man wearing the sunglasses indoors with the dark red hair who was annoying the other patrons would be an amazing lay, if he played his fortunes right.

_Not my type, Frank. Sorry about that._

“I need _Aziraphale_. He’s left me!” Crowley didn’t bother to take Frank’s hand.

“Well, maybe there can be some good that can come out of this Aziraphale’s departure," Frank dropped his hand, to curl his fingers around his pint glass.

“I doubt it,” Crowley pouted and took another swig of the pungent drink. “Aziraphale was no baby…”

“Look-“

“But he was cute. Always so _cute_. And so annoying and _sweet._ Had these big eyes. And always smiling. Always so good…”

“Sounds as though this Aziraphale wasn’t so _good_ if he left you,” Frank took a sip of his own pint.

“He didn’t have a choice… It was complicated.”

“It always is.”

“Aziraphale was no baby,” Crowley repeated. “He was a big strong angel!”

“When we break up with people, we tend to overexaggerate their-“ Frank frowned.

“He never needed to show his power. It was never necessary. That was strength in itself. Why didn’t I ever recognise this?” He placed his head in his hands. “Oh Satan…” He reached out and grabbed the startled man’s muscular left arm.

“Woh! Loosen up there bud-“ Frank said, struggling to break free.

“But you want me to be more than your bud, don’t you, Frank? I loved him, I realize now. I loved that son of an angel so much!” He let go and Frank winced, rubbing his wrist.

“What the hell? I think I’m going to have a bruise there!” Frank pushed the chair back and stood. “Forget you! You try to be nice…” He murmured.

“I’m not going to fuck you, but if you go around the corner, in the alcove closest to the male toilets is a very pretty blond man who’s been secretly eyeing you up all night. Go to him.”

Frank shook his head and walked away, not back towards his former booth but towards the direction of the alcove by the toilets, where the pretty blond man ducked his head back around the corner again.

“Another!” Crowley slammed down the empty bottle. The bar man rushed to replace it with a second bottle.

_None of this is…If I had been an angel this entire time, maybe Aziraphale may have… may not be…_

“I never asked to be a demon…” Crowley lamented. Lucifer’s human form had been… well, gorgeous, still is. Too easy to tempt Crowley. A simple smile in his direction, a promise to take him out of the financial strife he was in. That was it. Damned for eternity.

Lightning struck outside, and a vision flickered before his sunglasses. Crowley blinked.

_No, it can’t be… can it?_

“Aziraphale…”

The vision became clearer, to reveal a wonky, semi-transparent Aziraphale.

Crowley lifted his glasses.

“Are you here?”

“Good question…” Aziraphale replied, wavering before him. “Not certain. Never done this before. Can you hear me?” His eyes fluctuated between too big for his face, to normal sized again.

Crowley’s mouth flew open, not certain how to process what was before him. He was drunk, sure but he wasn’t _that_ drunk… was he?

“Afraid I’ve rather made a mess of things,” Aziraphale continued. “Did you go to Alpha Centuri?”

How could he have gone without his best friend?

Aziraphale had the cutest nose. Crowley tended to overlook how cute his nose was, compared to the rest of his genial features. But now, he was intent on that one feature… he suspected the alcohol may have played a role as to the reason why.

_Yes, yes he has those rosy little cherubic cheeks and those… ok eyes are getting too big._

Clenching his fists, Crowley forced himself to pay attention. Aziraphale talked of a specific book from his book shop. Heaven, that was going to be tough, considering the place had burned down.

“The nice and accurate prophecies of…”

Agnus Nutter! Yes, he had the book! He had the book with him!

Aziraphale had worked it out! Smart… so smart with his bow tie and his cute nose and his big eyes that were having the current tendency to grow too large. Crowley figured that must be because of… whatever was going on with him. But still, trust his genius friend to work it all out, to make notes on the book of prophecies detailing who the antichrist was and where he was going to be.

Great, now that was sorted, Crowley could go to where the angel was and…

Oh… discorporated. No body. That. Wasn’t good.

As Aziraphale explained, the proposal was for Crowley to head to Tadfield Airbase. Aziraphale would follow. First though, he needed a receptive body.

“Pity I can’t inhabit yours.”

An angel inside him? If they were discussing a being of pure light and energy physically inhabiting his demonic soul and cleansing it of all impurities… no, came across as rather grotesque and unnatural.

_(What if the angel was inside you, or you inside him, in a different way in which you’ll both enjoy?)_

“Angel, demon, probably explode.”

Well, yes and not in the ecstatic explosion Crowley’s dirty mind was envisioning but in an actual explosion, as in both of them turning into minute chunks of Crowley-Aziraphale debris.

Utterly disgusting but at least… interesting.

“Meet you at Tadfield but we’re both going to have to get a wiggle on.”

Wiggle on… he really did say the most ridiculous things, at times.

*  
Crowley had been stuck in this traffic jam for far too long. Funny to have been alive for over six thousand years and now, time had slowed down to feel as though this traffic jam fit that time frame. Certainly, he only had himself to blame, as he caused the problem to begin with. This was starting to be a recurring theme in his life.

_What to do? What to do?_

Crowley pulled out and drove along the edge of the parked cars. Sure, a ring of fire prevented any movement out of London (again, his fault) but he’d work something out.

_I’m not going to allow a little ring of fire to-_

His sunglasses being plucked off his head, by Hastur, interrupted his strategizing.

_Well… damn me…_

The duke had managed to escape out of his answering machine- of course he had- and now he was understandably… perturbed, wasn’t up for Crowley’s usual tomfoolery.

“Hell will not forget. Hell will not forgive.”

Ah but this demon, such a joker! Crowley had always meant to ask him if he ever worked any comedy rooms.

“You know where the antichrist is. You’ll never reach him. You’re done, Crowley. Think you’re going to get across that?” He pointed at the flames rising metres up into the air in front of them. “There’s nowhere to go!”

_Yep, the next Lenny Henry, this one…_

“Let’s find out,” Crowley said, slipping Mozart into the cd player and charging forward, before bringing up a topic dear to his demonic soul; the fourteenth century. He had hated that particular time period, but never had anyone to discuss this with, as in another demon on his level. He’d talked about it with Aziraphale but it wasn’t the same. Aziraphale, being an angel, hadn’t hated the fourteenth century. He hadn’t hated any century. They all both had their perks and their downfalls, Aziraphale had explained. But there was love in every century, and forgiveness and understanding and all of those angelic niceties that caused vomit to regurgitate into Crowley’s mouth.

The Bentley warmed up, as she drove closer to the flames. But it was alright, it was all going to be fine, because she was such an obedient car, a valued companion. She could withstand anything, slight flames? A mere trifle for her. Furthermore, her active desire was to protect Crowley, keep him from harm, as well as protect herself.

Hastur didn’t wish to discuss the fourteenth century, or any century. He just wanted to yell at Crowley to stop and tell him how doomed he was. Crowley was aware of all of that. He often wondered how such a stupid demon ever got so far up the hell ladder, to be duke.

They hit the flames, and the vehicle sweltered and blistered with heat, but still she continued on, because she was amazing, as the humans would say, kick ass, withstanding what even a tank or army jet wouldn’t be able to.

“You’ll discorporate us both!” Hastur screamed.

_Oh, you mean like Aziraphale’s been discorporated?_

“Come on, if you’re going to go then go in style!” Crowley shouted his mantra.

“I hate you!” Hastur screamed, as his physical body burned down to nothing.

Crowley wasn’t too bothered; worse things had been said to him by Aziraphale.

_Still, keep going valuable little car. Amazing little car. We’re almost there!_

With a splurge of power, the Bentley drove through the rest of the flames and out the other side, to a police car sitting on the edge of the blaze, bearing two bamboozled officers inside.

“What a great car! Good girl!” Crowley patted the steering wheel and lifted his hand to wave at the officers, as he passed.

_Okay, Tadfield Airbase. Surely, couldn’t be too hard to find._

Crowley found Tadfield Airbase to be hard to find, to the extent he ended up having to ask a confused looking man for directions.

He arrived in time to notice Shadwell-a man who worked on and off for him, and the lady from across the hall to Shadwell, Madame Tracy, standing at the perimetre of the base, before a grumpy army officer.

“Crowley!” Madame Tracy shouted, as he came out of the still burning vehicle, slammed the door closed and walked up to the peculiar gathering.

Oh, it was Aziraphale. He’d found a body! Good for him.

“Nice dress, suits you,” he said.

“Ah thank you,” From the smile lighting up Madame Tracy’s face, Aziraphale was pleased.

At that moment, four children, including the antichrist himself, came riding past the army officer and straight into the compound. The antichrist in person was… underwhelming. Just a normal curly haired boy.

_What were you expecting, horns?_

“Don’t move!” The army officer ordered.

The Bentley decided to take that moment to give up and explode. With his heart in his stomach, Crowley rushed over, dropping to his knees. No, not his Bentley too. He was losing everything in this wretched war, that hadn’t even started. First Aziraphale’s earthly body and now his car.

“Ninety years and not scratch, now look at you.” She had been such a good car. No, the best car. This wasn’t-

“Crowley! He’s got a gun! Do something!” Madame Tracy/Aziraphale pleaded.

Crowley wasn’t interested. He would get back to saving the world but he needed a moment to grieve for his Bentley. Aziraphale could at least give him that. Thankfully, Madame Tracy/Aziraphale stalked away, leaving Crowley to wallow.

_Alright, enough wallowing._

Crowley stood up. “Rest in peace,” he blew a kiss. “You were a good car.”

Back to the job at hand. The grouchy army officer had disappeared, thanks to Aziraphale’s angelic hand. But that was only one of their… various current problems.

As one, they moved forward, towards the army vehicles coming towards them…

_Did Aziraphale just say…?_

Yes, he did.

_Lick some serious butt, indeed._

The vehicles intercepted them, and Crowley easily tempted the soldiers to leave the army of the United Kingdom and begin lives as tax accountants in New York city. He then stole the vehicle off their fleeing persons and, with the others in tow, drove to where Adam, his friends and the four horsepeople of the Apocalypse stood facing each other, on the airbase exterior tarmac.

“That’s him!” Crowley shouted, pointing at Adam.

Shadwell was hesitant to shoot, so Madame Tracy/Aziraphale took the weapon off him.

“Shoot him, Aziraphale!” Crowley ordered.

_For once in your life, do the wrong and therefore right thing!_

The weapon thrust up into the air and fired.

“I’m sorry!” Madame Tracy said. “I couldn’t let you do it!”

“Excuse me, why are you two one person?” Adam asked.

“Well, ah you see…” Madame Tracy/Aziraphale began. “I was in my bookshop and-“

“It’s not right, you should go back to being two people again.”

One then became two, as Aziraphale was wrenched from Madame Tracy and back into his earth-bound form. Crowley could not help but stare at his newly acquired material bodied friend, his heart slamming hard against his ribcage. Yes, now that Aziraphale was solid and his eyes weren’t wavering between too big and too small, in fact, all of his parts were staying as their correct proportions, Crowley was overjoyed to have him back.

Still cute, so cute, Crowley hadn’t budged from his consistent analysis of the angel’s appearance. Cute nose, cute rosy cheeks, cute eyes… cute way of talking, of standing, cute everything… alright, he’d concede, for Aziraphale, cute bow tie.

However, he still wished to rip the ridiculous item off his neck.

With four children, a self-described witch hunter and his neighbour, both Aziraphale and Crowley stood against the four horsepeople of the apocalypse.

The children stepped forward.

“It’s not real,” Adam said. “They’re just like nightmares.”

When Crowley originally arrived on the planet earth, he had been intrigued as to what would come of these new humans. Sure, there were other inhabited planets, but they weren’t mentioned much in the writings of Metatron, God’s voice, not to the extent this earth was. In particular, the first two who had succumbed to temptation, Adam and Eve, were described in detail. The angels, as well as demons at the time had whispered that these were God’s favourites; that of all of the beings in the universe, these humans, who had been given free will, were beloved of the creator.

As the millennia passed, Crowley did grow to be fond of and… even though it was excruciating and caused him to swallow great wads of bile … sure, even love these beings, precisely because they were so unique from any other beings in the universe. They were an incredible and interesting bundle of copious contradictions. Each time he was convinced he had the humans pegged, they would turn around and do the opposite.

Standing on the day of the apocalypse, watching a little girl stand up to War… War of all beings, a spark of an odd emotion lit up Crowley’s darkened soul. It took a moment for him to comprehend pride. This little girl was a pacifist and she was not going to let War war. Unable to take the contradiction of being unable to perform the very task that humans had designed her for, War screamed and was destroyed in a torrent of fire. Another little boy stood before Pollution, stating he didn’t believe in the principles of what Pollution stood for. No other being in the universe could achieve such aims, as Pollution was destroyed, sinking to the ground in their own muck, followed by Famine, by the third boy (helped by… _that little dog is the hell hound?_ ). Yes, this was clear, to Crowley's centuries upon centuries old sight; no other beings in the entire universe, other than humans could cause such a contradiction that the very contradiction itself destroyed three of the four beings heralded to start the Apocalypse.

And wasn’t that Aziraphale’s sword the children were holding?

Death, the only one who couldn’t be destroyed by such contradictions, left of his own accord, claiming he would be back.

Aziraphale, being ever the optimist, was convinced it was over. Of course, it wasn’t over. Those pathetic, idiotic angels and demons still wanted their damned/blessed war.

“So, you… what was your name again?” He asked the antichrist.

“Adam.”

“So, your friends and you got together and saved the world. Well done!” No, he refused to show the children how much they had impressed him.

The girl who Crowley had formerly hit by his car then appeared, walking towards them, a man by her side. Crowley guessed this to be ‘flashes of love’ man. She demanded her book back. Crowley saw no harm in giving it back to her and…

Oh no no no he shook his head at Aziraphale, who was trying, in a convoluted way, to explain what was happening… from the very beginning, as in Adam and Eve beginning.

_If we get out of this, angel, I’m going to have to remind you of the rules as to what we can or can’t reveal to humans._

Lightening flashed and Gabriel and well as Beelzebub rose up and down respectively, to stand together.

_Oh shit…_

“Beelzebub!” Crowley bowed.

Beelzebub offhand referred to him as the traitor. That wasn’t nice.

Both were more concerned with Adam over Crowley and Aziraphale, however, with convincing him of the Great Plan, that he was meant to start Armageddon, it was his destiny.

Aziraphale came forward, to stand beside the young boy.

“You keep mentioning the Great Plan. Is that the Ineffable Plan?”

_Ineffable Plan._

A neurotransmitter in Crowley’s brain divulged down a different path, connecting to other neurotransmitters, which then connected to others, to form a concept that was so simple, yet brilliant in its scope.

Aziraphale was, indeed, a genius! They didn’t know! The Great Plan and the Ineffable Plan were not connected at all. They simply wanted the war because they wanted the war. They didn’t know God’s true intentions for the earth and its humans. In fact, how did they know this Great Plan didn’t contradict God’s Ineffable Plan? They didn’t.

Acceding to Aziraphale and Crowley’s reasoning, Gabriel and Beelzebub left, not before telling Aziraphale and Crowley this was all their faults ( _Fair enough_ ) and advising Adam his father wasn’t going to be pleased he hadn’t performed his duty.

_Oh well, it wasn’t-_

Pain, excruciating pain, and not of the delightful type, electrocuted Crowley’s system, freezing receptors to peak sensitivity. He slumped down to the ground, quivering.

_Satan knows. And he’s really not happy._

The ground continued to shake around them. Crowley had truly given up. He’d said before he was considering surrendering to his fate but now, they didn’t have a choice. Satan was going to take every choice away from him. And them. And everyone.

“Come up with something! Or I’ll…” Aziraphale said, holding his sword up. “I’ll never talk to you again.”

Oh great, just great. Crafty angel, knew the right thing to say at that moment. If, by slim chance they did survive all of this, Crowley planned not only to rekindle their friendship but to try to be better, to work through their past misunderstandings.

Hence, if Aziraphale never talked to him again he wasn’t sure what he would do. Carry on a miserable existence, he supposed. And not in a joyous miserable way that, as a demon, he would have coveted, but in a true dejected fashion; wandering through life with all of the colour bleached out, to the mere black and grey of his hell origin.

Growling in frustration, Crowley disappeared him, Aziraphale and Adam to be weightless on a cloud, three kilometres above the airfield.

Both needed to get through to the antichrist child, to explain the wrath his father was going to lay down on all of the ones at that air base, and the countryside around and possibly the entire earth. Crowley had not experienced the sensation of his own boss being so furious. This was not going to be pleasant.

“But what can I do? I’m just a boy,” Adam said.

But he wasn’t a boy, Aziraphale, who had always been better at getting through to humans than Crowley ever could, now spoke. He wasn’t evil, he wasn’t saintly. He was _human_ , which was both, or neither, or something in between. It didn’t matter. Because being human wasn’t about angel or demon or their ridiculous politics. This wasn’t about them. This was about Adam and _his_ reality.

Yes, Aziraphale was right. Crowley could have gladly kissed him right there, if the circumstances weren’t so dire.

Trusting in Adam, Crowley transported them back to the earth. A roar sounded, the area trembled violently and Satan, bright red and horned, tore out of the ground, sending steel and concrete from the airfield’s buildings and paved road flying. He’d lost weight, was looking younger than Crowley recalled. How long had it been? A couple of thousand years, at least. Had to be.

“Where’s my son? Come here!” He ordered Adam.

Only it wasn’t Adam’s father. Adam’s father had been with him the entire eleven years of his life. As Adam explained, where had this new father been? No, he wasn’t his dad.

In a scream that accepted the human’s logic, Satan crumpled to ash, his physical form defeated.

And that was it. The noise of an engine sounded, a car trundling down the airfield road strip, containing Adam’s real father.

So simple. Yes, humans were, indeed, clever.

*  
From the bottle shop, to the bus stop, Crowley had been waiting for the right time to speak to Aziraphale, about their relationship. Aziraphale had showed him the bizarre last note from Agnus Nutter to them, regarding choosing their faces wisely. As much as Crowley longed to tell him, in detail, the intensity of his emotions toward him, he still had the instinct this wasn’t the end. After all, both sides had left irritated at them for interfering with Armageddon. They would undoubtedly be back.

“You can stay at mine if you like?” Crowley said, after reminding the angel that his book store had been destroyed.

“I don’t think my side would like that,” Aziraphale said.

Except now he truly didn’t have a side. Now, they really were by themselves.

The bus pulled up an both alighted, sitting together. Crowley looked out of the window. The sky was bruised pink and orange, the sun peeking up from below the horizon.

“Almost day time… You should at least visit my house, as me,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “Of course! That would work!” Oh, how Crowley had missed how adorable he became, the flutter he caused in the demon’s lower abdomen, when he was excited. “I can survive holy water. And you can survive demon fire.”

“Yes, Aziraphale. That’s exactly how it will work!”

Grinning at each other, Crowley wanted to risk leaning forward to kiss him but no… not yet, not yet.

Soon.

*

The bookstore had been restored. Everything was as before. Crowley walked through, touching various tomes. Aziraphale’s countenance was odd. He ran Aziraphale’s long fingers through his springy soft hair, relishing the experience from the inside, biting his tongue, hard enough to bleed. If he had time… masturbating in the appearance of the one he had always desired… how devilish…But no… the plan was to check in on each other’s places and meet up in their usual spot in St James’s Park. Their respective superiors wouldn’t waste time in collecting them.

*

Crowley/Aziraphale stood before the ice cream stand, turning to smile at him as he approached. Heavens, he was a handsome demon! Lovely hair colour. He suspected he’d never managed to lift his facial muscles as high as the smile on the face of the one before him, but then, that was Aziraphale.

“How’s the car?” He asked, fretful as to the answer.

Aziraphale had thankfully toned down his prissy way of talking and moving his hands, as he answered.

The car was fine. Everything was back to normal.

Good for Adam.

And… there was death, standing in the idle of the grassland. That could only mean…

The angels were so quick in gagging and tying Aziraphale/Crowley he didn’t have the chance to even scream a warning to Crowley/Aziraphale. No matter, they had taken on each others' appearances, so everything should work out… he couldn’t say he could pray, as he no longer had any demonic entity to pray to. They only had one being to rely on, a long dead human named Agnes Nutter. Their fate was now decided by a book written hundreds of years before, by a woman who exploded herself and her entire town.

*

Tied to a chair in heaven, so undignified, even for angels. Crowley admitted to being a little… disappointed. He would have expected far more elegance from those above.

_Hopefully Aziraphale’s having a more interesting time down below._

He had to admit, up close, Gabriel wasn’t as handsome as others stated. Perhaps it was the smarmy attitude. He did tend to find that bragging took the shine off another’s beauty.

So, demonic fire it was. It took all of Crowley’s energy to withhold his smirk, instead was deliberate in bringing up the greater good, even though he was aware it would be ineffective in changing the angels’ minds.

“Don’t talk to me about the greater good. I’m the Archangel Fucking Gabriel,” the yes, not so handsome when he’s about to kill another angel and obtaining obvious pleasure from the concept, Archangel spat.

One time, Crowley overheard the neighbourhood boys, who were regular churchgoers and participated in soup kitchens, refer to one of their teachers as a ‘douchebag’. Douchebag, as in a bag to fill with liquid to clean the genital area? Crowley considered this to be one of the best insults he had ever been fortunate to be in earshot of.

Yep, Douchebag Gabriel.

One of the angels stepped forward to untie his hands and he stood. No, this wasn’t right. he wasn’t acting ‘Aziraphale enough’.

“I don’t suppose I can persuade you to reconsider?” He put on his best Aziraphale smile. “We’re meant to be the good guys, for heaven sake!”

Into the flame?

Too easy.

“Lovely knowing you all. May we meet on a better occasion.”

“Shut your stupid mouth and die already,” Gabriel said and forced a fake smile that decreased his beauty even further.

_Yep. Utter utter douchebag._

Aziraphale/Crowley stepped forward into the flames.

Oooh always so soothing, bathing in tepid water. And oh so glorious, to observe the horror on the angels' faces. Smiling at them, Crowley growled, shooting flames towards them.

_Fuck you Douchebag Gabriel!_

“I think you should maybe leave me alone, don’t you?” Aziraphale/Crowley said. “After all, if I can survive this… what else do you think my powers are? Would you like to test them, huh, Archangel Fucking Gabriel?” He smiled once more.

“Get him out,” Gabriel relented.

*

Back to the earth, to their favourite bench in St James’s Park.

Back to their true appearances again. As much as it had been fun to be Aziraphale for a while, Crowley was more than pleased to be himself again. Aziraphale’s collar was too starchy, for one.

“I asked for a rubber duck! I made the Archangel Michael miracle me a towel!” Aziraphale said. Both laughed. It was glorious. Being alive felt beyond glorious, a miracle even beyond what Aziraphale could perform.

Of course, it wasn’t the end. There would be breathing space. Would be years, hundreds, thousands. But eventually, the armies of heaven and hell would arm themselves again and this time launch themselves upon the peoples of earth.

Until then, they had other priorities, like lunch.

*

The Ritz’s ambiance was perfect that day, the pianist just far away that her pleasant music (to Aziraphale’s ears, at least) entered their tympanic membranes at just the right level. Crowley suspected this to be all Aziraphale’s doing.

The waiter poured their wine and then moved away, lending them privacy.

“I liked to think none of this would have worked out if you weren’t, just a little bit, deep down, a good person,” Aziraphale said.

“And if you weren’t, just a little bit, just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing,” Crowley concurred.

Aziraphale’s resultant proud smile played the usual havoc with Crowley’s intestines.

“To the world,” Crowley said.

“To the world,” Aziraphale said, eyes sparkling, as they clicked glasses together. “Crowley, we did it! We saved the world! I didn’t consider it to be possible. I honestly believed we would all be destroyed in a world of flame and destruction. And even surviving that, I didn’t consider for a moment Agnus Nutter’s prediction would save us both-“

“Aziraphale shut up a moment!” Crowley said.

“Oh… is everything alright?”

_Is everything alright? No, it hasn’t been alright for a long time. And at this point if I don’t say something, then I’ll explode with more finesse than if you had tried to possess me!_

“No, it’s not alright. Don’t… stay calm. Please stay calm," Crowley begged Aziraphale.

“Why ever would you say that?” Slight indent between his eyebrows to indicate his concern.

“Aziraphale…this…” He grimaced.

“Crowley what’s wrong?”

_I’m…_

Crowley bent over, clutching at his stomach, which had decided to attempt to rip out of the flesh surrounding it. Aziraphale jumped out of his chair to go over to him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“I’m… in love with you…” Crowley’s face was scrunched as sharp knives dug into his tender flesh.

“You’re… what?”

“I’m IN LOVE WITH YOU!”

The piano ceased playing. All the heads in the room facing away from them turned in their direction.

“You’re. In love with me?” Slight uprise in his inflection.

Crowley forced himself to sit back in his chair. Now that it was out, his organs had settled and knives withdrawn to be replaced with healing balm.

“Seeing as it was the end of the world, I thought I might as well-“

His sentence was cut off by Aziraphale’s lips on his, sweet and sour and soft and hot and cold and yes, yes, his desperate tongue, the soft coils of his hair, the supple flesh on the back of his neck.

This time, when they pulled back, there was no fear or trepidation in Aziraphale’s pale irises, no clear desire to run, or deny his true feelings.

“You silly sod!” A pretty pink hue brightened Aziraphale’s cheeks. “I have been in love with you for years, ever since you returned the books to me after the church was destroyed during world war two-“

“ _I’m_ the silly sod! Me! You’ve been in love with me this entire time and yet you were the one who kept rejecting me?”

Aziraphale ran a hand down Crowley’s cheek, sending sparks through his system.

“Shall we go back to yours? We have a lot to discuss. And then…more.”

“We’ve only just arrived here but…” Crowley shrugged. “Sure.”

Aziraphale reached out his hand and Crowley took it, allowing the angel to drag him up.

“When you say ‘and then more’?” Crowley asked.

“I’m referencing sex, as in the most human of intimacies.”

“Christ!” Crowley experienced those words right down to… yep, at attention.

“Blasphemy!” Aziraphale swatted his arm.

“Whatever, let’s go.”

“We talk first though,” Aziraphale said.

“Sure sure, whatever…As long as we get to what I promise is going to be incredible sex I don’t care.”

“So, you demons _are_ obsessed with sexual intimacy.”

“I wasn’t the one who brought it up, you did,” Crowley said, as hand in hand, both walked out of the restaurant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is mainly going to be sex... cos these two deserve it after all they've been through ;)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to wrap this one up.  
> Thanks to all who have read! Had great fun writing this :)

“Now we’re both here, let’s spruce this place up, hey?” Aziraphale said as he stepped into Crowley’s dining room. Ornate gold candelabras sprouted out of the ground in the four corners, bearing long whickered candles, lending the space a soft glow. A red velvet table cloth draped over the table, upon which sat a vase painted with hieroglyphics picked up from the ancient Egyptian era, in which a dazzling array of multi-coloured flowers sprouted. Crowley wrinkled his nose. Too overwhelming for his sedate taste.

“I say we skip the meal and head straight to dessert, what do you think?” Aziraphale asked.

“Mm… dessert…” Crowley leaned over and nuzzled the flesh of the angel’s neck. Bristles of hair tickled his lips. Intrigued, Crowley moved his lips along his jaw line, where the minute bristles continued to scratch his mouth. Aziraphale, as an angel, could allow his skin to be as abrasive or not as he wished. Crowley could only surmise Aziraphale kept this miniscule facial hair because it was in keeping with human men (as Crowley did, himself. Also, to him, facial hair was sexy and stylish.)

“I mean literal-“ Aziraphale said, as the chocolate mousse both had ordered for desert at the Ritz materialised on the table before them. “I sense… fear…”

Stepping back from Crowley, Aziraphale turned and moved swiftly out of the room.

Intrigued, Crowley followed.

“Yes, I sense…”

Crowley had a fair idea where he was going. Sure enough, Aziraphale wandered across the hall, through the arch and into the nursery, where the plants quivered.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale admonished, as he patted one of the branches of the most luscious fern. “These plants are terrified!”

“And they’re also the luxuriant in all of London,” Crowley explained.

Aziraphale’s mouth opened in an exclamation of disbelief. “Well, you certainly don’t need to keep them in fear to allow them to grow. Yes," as he patted the branch, it popped out pretty purple flowers. “Just giving them kind love and support-”

Crowley clenched his fists, not thrilled with the flowers grown from Aziraphale’s touch. He would have to talk to that particular plant later, when the angel wasn’t around.

“Can you please not tell me what to do with my own plants?”

“I’m simply explaining you are doing them a disservice!”

“Let’s go back to the dining room.”

“Okay… but Crowley you can’t…If you mistreat them again, I’ll… I’ll…” Aziraphale clenched his own fists.

“You’ll what? Leave!”

Aziraphale bit his lip, unclenching his hands.

_Aha, got him._

“Fear will not give you what you want,” Aziraphale said, in a more moderate tone.

“Please angel, I don’t want to be spending the rest of the night talking about my plants.”

Aziraphale’s brow creased in clear distress. “Okay, we can discuss this at a later date.”

As he left the room, Crowley shot an annoyed glance back at his plants, who trembled in fear, once more.

“Now…” Aziraphale crossed back into the dining room, gracefully sat and dug his spoon into his dessert.

Crowley lounged opposite.

“Mm… superb as usual!” Aziraphale said.

“So that’s it?”

“That’s what?” Aziraphale asked, patting his mouth with a napkin.

“Aren’t we going to talk about what we discussed at the restaurant? I need to know what’s happening here! Are you going to reject me again? Are you going to run?”

“No, Crowley I’m not…” Aziraphale placed his spoon on the table, his chest expanding and decreasing from a deep breath. “I… apologise for my… for my cowardice…I have been harbouring such intense feelings for you, for almost eighty years now, perhaps even more than that. Yes, longer than that. But it took you burning your feet in a church for me to acknowledge…”

Merely an hour before, Crowley had told himself he needed to hear this, for Aziraphale to act contrite for his past rejections. Now the words were coming out of the angel’s mouth, he didn’t need to hear them.

“Angel it doesn’t…” Crowley skirted his chair around to sit beside him, placing an arm around his shoulders. “It doesn’t matter, not any more.”

“But you need to understand why! I did share in the intensity of your love but the fear…”

“Sh… it’s okay…” Crowley nuzzled the juncture between the line of his jaw and his neck, turning his head to capture his lips in a long, sating kiss. By the time they pulled back, the anxiety had dispelled from Aziraphale’s pale irises.

“I have… had such… unangelic fantasies…” Aziraphale said, taking the sunglasses off Crowley’s face. “So wrong…” His chest heaved, causing Crowley’s own breath to become frantic. “You’re right. There is a bit of demon in me.” He trailed the back of a hand down Crowley’s cheek. “You are very beautiful, Crowley, I don’t know if anyone has ever told you this but you are.”

“And you’re insatiable and sexy and so damned cute it’s irritating and adorable…” Crowley grabbed the bowtie from around his neck and pulled it off him, dropping it to the floor.

“If we’re going to do this, we should be comfortable,” Aziraphale said.

The right corner widened and a bed appeared behind the candelabra, bearing black satin sheets, blankets and pillows.

“The black satin is for me, isn’t it?” Crowley said.

Aziraphale nodded and pulled Crowley towards him for an extended kiss once more, before standing and walking over to the bed.

“Finally!” Crowley said, using his demonic powers to melt the clothes off himself. “It’s only been six thousand years!”

Aziraphale, who was sitting on the edge of the mattress, widened his eyes, which then trailed up and down Crowley’s torso. “Oh Crowley, you really are-“

“What?” Crowley stood, proud and naked before him. “Sexy? Irresistible? Come on, your turn.”

“Well, I thought…” Aziraphale’s lips lifted in his usual cheery grin. “I don’t have to be completely naked…We could just…”

Ah… ok, this was not what Crowley had expected. Not in all of his fantasies involving the angel, did this scenario come into his mind.

“If we’re going to be intimate that’s kind of the point, angel.”

“Oh… yes, of course…” Crowley’s eyelids fluttered down, as he unbuttoned his waist coat.

“What’s wrong?” Aziraphale’s lack of enthusiasm was wilting his former rigid erection.

“When I last saw Gabriel, well he was jogging and… you see how handsome he is…”

Crowley shrugged. “Not _that_ handsome”, he said, sitting beside Aziraphale and taking his hand in his.

“Really?” The vulnerability in Aziraphale’s half upturn of lips forced Crowley to peck the side of his mouth, in an attempt to turn them fully up.

“ _Really_. In fact, I can’t stand the angel. Such an arrogant idiot.”

“Yes, he always was…I could barely catch up with him, was so out of breath! He told me I was getting a bit… pudgy from all of the food.”

“Pudgy?” Crowley gently poked the cloth still covering the flesh of his abdomen.

“Well I am…Look at you, Crowley with your lovely slender body and I’m… well…”

In experiencing Aziraphale’s nonsensical but clear self-consciousness, in regards to his own physique, Crowley regretted not burning Gabriel with the hell fire, the chance he was able.

“You’re well what?” Crowley had no desire to be having this ridiculous conversation, particularly as they were about to be intimate for the first time. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with you, Aziraphale… well…” He undid more buttons of Aziraphale’s shirt to pull it open, exposing dark chest hairs. “Apart from wanting to perform very naughty acts with a demon…” He took the right nipple in his mouth and bit down, relishing Aziraphale’s sigh.

“It’s just I have a slight… pot belly.”

“Well, can I see it?”

“It’s hardly the way an angel’s meant to look,” Aziraphale said, frowning and dissolving his own clothes.

“Oh, for hell’s sake, Aziraphale!” Crowley said, stroking his hands down his over the strong muscles of his thighs, which were covered in downy dark hair. “You’re cute and gorgeous and sexy and imminently fuckable. I’ve always thought so! Why do you think I came onto you outside the garden of Eden?” He ran his hand up over the admitted slight bulge of his stomach, which, in his opinion, added to his cute factor. “This…” He shuffled down, to kiss all over the upraised plane of his abdomen. “Is cute as hell, like the rest of you.”

“Only hell isn’t cute…” Aziraphale’s hands in his dark red locks were shooting tingles all over his demonic form.

Ignoring him, Crowley moved further down his torso, to the one part of him that tugged upwards in a very un-angelic manner. Enclosing his mouth over is partner’s erect member, Crowley relished Aziraphale’s whimpers, the sharp tug of his hair encouraging him to move his head up and down faster, using his tongue, mouth and hand to cause even greater whimpers.

“So,” he looked up at Aziraphale, whose curls were stuck out at odd, sweaty angles, whose eyes were sparkling with pure lust and whose skin now glowed with a light sheen. Crowley was, for the first time, at a loss for words; the angel had gone beyond cute and sexy into the realm of pure beauty, in that moment.

“Should we continue this the human way?” Aziraphale miracled an open jar of lube in his hand.

Crowley grabbed the jar off him and set back to his task once more, this time using not only his mouth, tongue and hand but also his other fingers inside him, to cause straight moans from the angel’s mouth.

_Thank the heavens and the hells together for the prostate gland that we and humans share…_

Aziraphale’s moaning grew louder and his organ spasmed in Crowley’s mouth.

 _Strawberry?_ Crowley eagerly swallowed.

He didn’t have much time to consider the taste further, as he was flipped onto his back by the angel’s strength, with the angel’s mouth then on his member, the angel’s fingers swirling lube around inside him. Being already in a heightened state of ecstasy after getting Aziraphale off, within eighty-five seconds Crowley cried out his own heights of passion. Aziraphale instantly pulled away, coughing.

“I’m sorry, Crowley… as much as the idea of you… it burned my throat and tasted of… well, not pleasant…”

Crowley moved up and clanged their mouths together, to taste his own come off the angel’s lips. Aziraphale was right. Bitter. Aziraphale however…

“You taste of bloody strawberries, can you believe it?”

Aziraphale lay back down on the bed, wrapping his legs around Crowley’s waist.

“I give you permission… please, Crowley…”

‘If you insist…”

Again, with that smile, that sent tingles all through his body, from his fingertips to his feet, to the top of his head, and that edged his erection up so high he was surprised it wasn’t poking into his stomach flesh.

With joined mouths, Crowley slid into him, groaning. Aziraphale was as liquid, both snug and cool around him.

“Oh Crowley…” Aziraphale’s lips on his neck and hands caressing up and down his back spiralled electric flames through his frame, culminating in the area that thrust up inside the angel.

Needing more of the angel’s velvet interior, Crowley snapped his hips, causing both to groan together. Moving in Aziraphale was sliding in an alternate hot and cool stream, Aziraphale’s interior gripping him tight, as though needing to pull Crowley inside himself, right up further than it was possible for him to go. Crowley could fall into him, be one with him, meld to be the one entity; either that or explode, to acknowledge the fiery and destructive quality of their bonding-

“Crowley…” Fingers on his cheek.

Crowley looked down at Aziraphale’s lovely features; the visage he admired for so many years, so beautiful and cute and sexy and all Crowley needed, all he could ever want.

“I’m damned, I love you,” Crowley grinned. “And it’s fine…” He laughed. “It’s beyond fine.”

“It is…” Aziraphale said. “You’re safe here with me.”

Crowley leaned forward, to press their lips together, to lose himself to the moment, to the sweet taste of the chocolate mouse and strawberry and astringent combined come in Aziraphale’s mouth, to the noise of the slapping of their bodies together with their combined moans, the scent of their sweat, his bitter to Aziraphale’s atmosphere before a storm, the soft texture of Aziraphale’s sweaty curls and flesh, the sight of him, his beloved, his angel.

“Aziraphale…” He groaned, allowing himself to go over, to plunge so high into the stratosphere of pleasure his entire body shook from the force of it all. In the depths below, Aziraphale let out his own cry of ecstasy, his come smearing both their stomachs. “Oh yes…” Crowley thrust a couple more times, as the tendrils of his orgasm passed, before collapsing on his lover, riding out the ebbs of the last waves, as he plucked a stray tangle from off Aziraphale’s forehead. “That was…that was amazing…”

He sat up on his elbows to look down at his lover.

“Thank you, Crowley,” Aziraphale pecked him on the lips.

“No, thank you!” Crowley gently pulled out of him.

“Although I…” Aziraphale winced. “The residue left from the height of your passions-“

“You mean my come?”

“I ache for you to be inside me, however, I had to turn down the temperature, to stop the residue from being too… hot…”

“Well, I am hot for you…” Crowley grinned. “Now…” He climbed up so he was seated over Aziraphale. “I’m intrigued what your ‘height of residue’ is going to feel inside me.”

After both cried out in orgasm, Crowley discovered Aziraphale’s come inside him to be cool in temperature, but hot in character.

*

“Mm…” Crowley was impressed with how well Aziraphale corresponded with his own form. The angel lay comfortable and warm, draped over his body, his head against Crowley’s chest, as Crowley wrapped an arm around his back, the other running through his hair. “I can’t decide whether to go again, or lie here in this decadence a while longer.”

“Eight times in a row wasn’t enough for you?” Aziraphale asked, reaching down to fondle Crowley’s lax member.

“I have been waiting six thousand years, angel.”

“A demon falling in love with an angel. The reverse is, of course possible because we are beings of pure love. But a demon… something remarkable has occurred here, Crowley, you truly are special. One of a kind.”

Crowley would hardly call those idiots in heaven beings of pure love.

“I did have the most gorgeous angel to fall for.”

Aziraphale paced his head on his chest, to look up at him.

_There they are, those gorgeous big blue eyes._

“I have been a fool, all these years we could have…”

“And now we have,” Crowley said. “And it’s worked out quite well, don’t you think angel?”

“More than quite well.”

_And there it is that smile._

*

After another marathon session in the morning, Crowley was more than happy to lie in bed, but Aziraphale was up and making coffee.

“I need to go back to the bookstore,” Aziraphale explained, handing over a mug to Crowley, who had sat up in bed. The angel had miracled up a fluffy white gown and slippers for himself and was looking, as usual, perfectly adorable. Of course, Aziraphale preferred him out of the gown, preferred him wearing nothing at all.

Crowley took a sip of the black coffee. Just the right level of bitterness, yet another example of how well Aziraphale knew him.

“I figure I could…” Aziraphale drummed his fingers on his dressing gown. “Close up for a while. Now the apocalypse is over… Both of us could travel. It’s just an idea…”

“Sounds a great idea, Aziraphale. Where would you want to go?”

The angel’s entire face lit up. “I figured the Antarctic could be interesting. Maybe I could miracle the main ice sheets to stop melting.”

The amusing and cute visual of Aziraphale bulging with heavy fur-lined snow gear gratified Crowley’s mind.

“Sure, why not?”

“Really?” Aziraphale’s smile couldn’t possibly have been wider but he managed to do it. “It’s going to be wonderful, Crowley!” He pecked his lips. “Oh, how I love you!”

_Of course, he’s thrilled. He has me wrapped right around his angelic fingers._

*

After Aziraphale left to tend to his store, Crowley spent the rest of the morning lying in bed, slinging clothes into a bag… he could use his powers, or get Aziraphale to miracle him more on the way… and yelled at his plants. Around twelve, he wandered out to his Bentley and climbed inside.

“I missed you…” He said, stroking the dashboard, before turning the ignition, and receiving great comfort, as she purred to life.

A short trip later, he was in Aziraphale’s bookstore.

“Crowley!” Any fear Crowley had that Aziraphale may have regretted the night before was instantly wiped, from the obvious pleasure of Aziraphale’s grin, upon seeing him. “Did you have a nice morning?” He came over, ran his hand through Crowley’s hair and pulled him close for a tender, warm smooch.

“Better now,” Crowley admitted.

“I knew it!” The voice sounded behind them. Crowley spun around, to Shadwell standing in the centre of the store, with Madame Tracy beside him. “I knew you was a pansy!”

“Oh shush, Shadwell!” Madame Tracy had the decency to blush. “I’m so sorry, he’s-“

“Yes, I am! And a proud pansy at that!” Aziraphale said, placing one hand on his hip and the other in Crowley’s.

“Alright, laddy, I wasn’t taking the piss.”

“Actually, it rather sounds like you were,” Crowley admitted.

“What you do in the privacy of your own homes is not my business.” Shadwell said.

“Well, _I_ of course knew and I think it’s lovely. Congratulations!” Madame Tracy said.

Crowley glanced at Aziraphale.

“Well, we were sharing a body! She must have sensed my… attraction towards you.”

Madame Tracy poked Shadwell in the side.

“Well, laddies the missus an I would like to… would like to invite you to dinner tonight. To thank you for everything you’ve done.”

“Oh, we can’t-“ Crowley began.

“We’d be delighted,” Aziraphale said.

*

Dinner at Shadwell’s wasn’t as horrendous as Crowley had presumed. The man had cooked up a traditional Scottish meal which wasn’t overly done and Aziraphale was, of course, a gracious and charismatic dinner companion.

“So, what are you two? Cos you nay aren’t human that’s for sure!” Shadwell said.

“Shush!” Madame Tracey said. “If they don’t want to tell us, that’s their business.”

Crowley reached under the table to caress Aziraphale’s thigh, before moving it up further, to grope him. In response, Aziraphale’s hand grabbed Crowley’s and held it in his own.

“We are… supernatural beings. With great power,” Aziraphale said. “And we should all rejoice. We have all just avoided the apocalypse! Let’s have a toast!”

Crowley nuzzled his neck, causing saliva to slide down to his clavicle, before raising his own glass.

“To new beginnings.”

“To new beginnings!” Everyone said, clanging glasses together. Aziraphale’s eyes which shone with true joyous emotion, never left Crowley’s.

*

Both angel and demon groaned, bodies undulating together, sweat converting to steam, as their passions intensified. Aziraphale was the first to reach his height, flinging his head back and crying out, as his cool come splashed between them. Seeing his partner release was enough for Crowley to go over into pure pleasure, himself.

“Oh angel…” He thrust harder, determined to fill and fill, to bury himself as deep inside his angel as possible, as his being gave in to the ecstasy. “That was…” He still shook from his exertions, as he wiped a stray curl off Aziraphale’s cheek.

“I know,” Aziraphale said. “I even allowed it to burn a little this time. Felt… sexy…”

“You are sexy…” Crowley said.

“No, you have that side of the relationship covered,” Aziraphale pulled him down, to lie on top of him. Yes, they snuggled together well. “We will have to leave for Antarctica at some point.”

“And we will! But first, I want to make love three or four more times.”

“At this point we’re not going to leave the house! And I dearly wish to have a good dinner before we leave.”

“Okay, we can do that.”

“When they come back… the angels and demons… They will eventually…”

“We’ll balls it up and end up somehow winning, like we did the last time.”

Aziraphale laughed. “You’re right! We really do belong together.”

He clambered up to look down at Aziraphale.

“So, did you enjoy your ravishing, my adorable angel?”

Aziraphale’s fingers were light down the back of Crowley’s neck. “As immensely pleasurable as the last time was, I believe we can go even better, don’t you? I’m certain you’d be up for the task.”

Crowley proved to be more than up for the task.


End file.
